Harry Potter, an autobiography
by JavierCervantes
Summary: What if the way things happened was different from the canon story? Here is how it happened, in Harry's own words. A complete rewrite of the canon story from the ground up. Hope you like it!
1. The boy who didn't die

Being called 'the boy who lived' has always grated on me. By all accounts of the fall of Voldemort in Godric's Hollow all those years ago, my role, as a baby, was very passive. Honestly I do not have any significant memories of the time, so I swill skip ahead a bit and discuss what happened to 'the boy who didn't die.'

My earliest memories of my childhood at 4 Privet Drive start around the age of 5. I was always getting into mischief here and there, as my Aunt and Uncle, who had taken me in after the death of my parents, were errant guardians of both myself and my cousin, Dudley, who was a year older than me. Dudley and I didn't get on that well, mainly because he was forced to share his room with me, and it was rather small and cramped, even for two small children such as we were. There were also a number of weird occurrences that took place.

While playing out in the garden, I soon learned that I could talk to snakes. They came up to me out of the blue and started having conversations. Intelligent ones in fact. One day Dudley happened on me during a heated debate with a rare _coronella austriaca_ named Filiborn, about the merits of secrecy and its necessity. I was arguing for honesty being the best policy, and he insisted that honesty with everyone is a weakness, because it takes more effort to craft a clever lie. I was losing the argument badly, and was practically convinced, when Dudley butted in and began making fun of me for talking to a dumb snake. Filiborn was insulted by this and harmlessly nipped him on the ankle, as he had no venom, and Dudley fell over and screamed out in terror. I was able to talk Filiborn down, and convince him to accept an apology. Nevertheless, Dudley was very disturbed by me from then on, or at least he would conspicuously avoid me while in the garden.

It was at this time that I, cleverly, suggested that I could stay in the cupboard under the stairs, as it was hardly smaller than half of Dudley's room. The most important factor in this suggestion, that I kept quiet about, was that Dudley's room was down the hall from my Aunt and Uncle's room and the floorboards leading to the stairs were a bit creaky.

You see, I wanted to be able to come and go as I pleased, and as I was growing, well you do the maths. My Uncle, Vernon Dursley, was far too busy with his incredibly boring job as a sales manager for Grunnings Drill Company to put too much thought into it, and Petunia, my Aunt, liked the idea because it would make her 'ickle dudders' happy beyond compare.

My Aunt and Uncle were not really bad people, but I could tell that they felt a bit put upon with my presence, and it was a source of guilt for me. I didn't want to be living on the kindness of others.

On Privet Drive I didn't live in complete deprivation, but I was the last to get clothes or shoes and the first to get chores if you understand my meaning. There was something underneath it all of course, a kind of suburban sadism in how they treated me, mainly due to my being a little weird.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had always seemed to me a bit on the strange side themselves really. They were deathly afraid of any mention of fairies or magic or vampires or anything odd in that sense. There were no books about fairy tales in the house, no Disney movies, nothing. It wasn't until I was around 9 or 10 that I began to see this as completely out of place. While at school, my teacher had made some offhanded comment about Cinderella and a pumpkin, and when I said I hadn't the foggiest notion what she was on about she quizzed me for nearly 10 minutes about fairy tales and all that. After that she began to pay a curious amount of attention to me, asking all sorts of nosy questions about my life at Privet Drive.

She seemed to be utterly convinced that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were some kind of abusive religious fanatics, but after a school visit from them both to discuss a small disciplinary action for a rule infraction that I was completely innocent of, she was put at ease by realizing that they were just the blandest and most uninteresting people you could imagine.

Now when I was 10 years old, my Uncle got a computer with a Pentium 200MHz processor in it, but he soon abandoned it as far too confusing. However I read the manuals that he couldn't be bothered to, and began to play around with it. Once he realized that I had some kind of useful talent that he could exploit he became much more approving of me and my activities. As long as I could make the computer do what he wanted it to do. He had become convinced that what would get him ahead at Grunnings was a website for the company, which he had intended to make himself, but which ultimately fell to me. He bought me books on all sorts of computer related topics and I managed to make my first website. It was of course the worst website that has ever been made, but it was so fancy and technical in the eyes of Uncle Vernon that I can't imagine he has ever been more pleased since.

My Uncle Vernon, at least among the family, has made a name for himself with his harebrained schemes to get ahead at work, but this one actually got him somewhere. His boss at first thought the idea hardly worth the effort and only gave a nod to the project on account of the fact that he lacked the knowledge to see it as good or bad.

He soon changed his tune when several foreign companies contacted Grunnings to make drill orders from as far away as Canada. Because Uncle Vernon was himself absolutely incapable of making any changes to his company's website, he offered me my first paid job. I got 2 quid every time I had to change or add something, and for a 10 year old, this was the equivalent of a 6 figure salary. I had been scrimping and saving every penny I found or was given up to that time, and had a nice little store of money saved up. I had planned to save until I could leave Privet Drive and strike out on my own. In fact leaving that place was constantly on my mind.

That year was the best year I ever experienced at Privet Drive, while I certainly was never treated better or equal to Dudley, and who can blame them for it, but for the first time ever, Uncle Vernon almost respected me. Unfortunately it wasn't to last.

On my 11th birthday which falls on July the 31st, I received the strangest letter. I had become accustomed to fetching the post, and was surprised to find a small letter thusly addressed:

Harry Potter  
The cupboard under the stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey

As I had never before received anything in the mail, and certainly nothing so curiously addressed; I had the presence of mind to slip it underneath my cupboard door on the way to the kitchen to hand over the post to Uncle Vernon. On this day I think I resented being the one who was always called upon to do the washing up after every meal more than ever before. Scrubbing the pans and rinsing the plates, as Aunt Petunia seemed to misunderstand the primary function of a dishwasher and insisted that they go into the thing practically clean already, seemed to take ages.

Back in my cupboard, I sat down on my small cot which had belonged to Uncle Vernon's father who was in some glorious branch of the military whose name I had never bothered to remember on account of my being 11 years old and completely uninterested in war and violence of any kind. My intrinsic lack of militaristic patriotism had earned me a number of curious looks from Uncle Vernon and Dudley on a few occasions. This had led to a frequent haranguing by Uncle Vernon for me to toughen up, and there were always threats of sending me off to Duke of York's for my secondary education, which had been recently the topic of conversation around the kitchen table, as Uncle Vernon was completely convinced I was far too soft in the body and mind to go to Smeltings, his secondary school and the one which Dudley was already put down for. This of course was all a kind of charade to conceal the fact that neither Uncle Vernon nor Aunt Petunia were interested in paying for my secondary education. Both of them were as far from spendthrifts as it was possible to get, unless it was concerning Dudley, whom they lavished with excessive gifts all year round, but most especially on his birthday. This was all mostly beneath the surface, and they often made a good show of outwardly caring for me, although my birthdays were conspicuously simple, with a few small gifts, usually second hand clothes, and broken electronics. Before you think this is so horrible, I did ask for the broken doodads on account of my hobby of taking them apart and either repairing them, or using them for spare parts.

My hobby had started at the age of 8, when I had asked for a radio but was told it was too expensive. Dudley in an unusual act of kindness gave me his, which he had broken 1 day after receiving it on his birthday last. I set about trying to fix it, which took several weeks, but with a little help from a neighbor who saw me tinkering and made some helpful suggestions I repaired my first radio, and still have it to this day, though I have substantially extended its capabilities since then.

So there I sat, letter in hand, twirling it over and over. The paper it was made of was not paper at all. I had heard of something called parchment, that is a kind of paper made from animal skin, and I guessed, correctly, that this is what it was made of. I would later learn that Wizard parchment is not really animal skin, as Johan Bilderbach an 11th century Herbologist managed to cultivate a parchment tree where the bark regrows after only a month and continues to live for hundreds of years, producing incredible amounts of parchment that is indistinguishable from the animal skin variety. There are to my knowledge several vast parchment forests in Eastern Europe where the majority of Wizard parchment is produced, or more accurately _sloughed_ from the trees as part of their natural cycle of growth.

I delicately opened the tiny letter and began to pull out the contents. I immediately noticed something odd because as I pulled out the letter it became larger than could possibly have fit in the envelope. As soon as I had pulled out the letter, I noticed a small and thin booklet which I began to pull out and noticed that it seemed to grow in size as it left the envelope. Inside this tiny envelope was a letter, curiously written in a flowing formal calligraphic style, a small booklet with the title "For your Parent or Guardian", another small booklet titled "Welcome to Hogwarts" and several other loose leafs of paper with long lists of supplies.

At first I picked up the letter, at the top was an ornate heraldic crest featuring a lion, a snake, a badger and an eagle. Scrollwork above the crest read: Hogwarts. Below in a longer scrollwork was the school motto "draco dormiens nunquam titilandus." At the time of course, I knew almost nothing of Latin, but surmised that draco had something to do with dragons. I would later learn that this means "never tickle sleeping dragons." A motto I find rather perverse, you should always tickle sleeping dragons. If you don't, you'll never have any fun at all. Unfortunately this motto defines the Wizarding world perfectly. A more common version of this motto would be "Let sleeping dogs lie" or "Don't rock the boat."

I read the letter:

Dear Harry Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. The included guide is to be given to your parent or guardian to explain what needs to be done for you to attend school.

Term begins on September the 1st. We await your owl by no later than July the 31st.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress

I am not sure I can communicate how completely odd this letter was. I didn't think someone was putting me on, the amount of effort that went into it all, the obviously handwritten calligraphy, the professionally printed guides and welcome booklet, and the odd way it had all been packed into a tiny letter told me that this was real. I believed it in the way only a child can believe.

I picked up the welcome booklet and saw the first page, a letter:

A message to new students

Dear young Witch or Wizard,

You are about to embark on the greatest journey of your lives. A magical world awaits your discovery, and in this world you will experience a new kind of reality, much different than perhaps the one you are used to. Do not be afraid, never fear the unknown or even the unknowable. Each and every person accepted to Hogwarts was accepted because we know, as deeply as it can be known, that they are up to the challenge.

Being accepted is a great honor, but you are not compelled to come. You may refuse to go on this adventure, and no one will think less of you if that is your choice. If you feel that this is not the place for you, simply chuck it all in the bin and be done with it. But if you dare, then Hogwarts is the school for those who dare.

Albus Dumbledore  
Headmaster  
Order of Merlin 1st Class, Grand Sorc. Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, Intl. Confed. of Wizards.

The rest of the welcome booklet, which was 34 pages long, contained a concise history of Hogwarts with suggestions for further reading on the topic. At this point I took out a small notepad I always keep in my back pocket and took some notes of the author and book names with the intent of purchasing some cheap second hand copies if at all possible. I had been able to scrounge and save somewhere around £100, so I imagined I would be able to purchase a few of the more interesting titles. **Hogwarts, a histor**y by Bathilda Bagshot and **Sites of Historical Sorcery** by Plotinus Polefiddle.

The booklet continued by describing things like the sorting ceremony, and the main features of each house as well as famous alumni like Uric the Oddball and Garrick Ollivander for Ravenclaw, which to me sounded like the most promising house. It seems that Albus Dumbledore, which appeared to me one of the queerest names I had ever read, was from Gryffindor. Slytherin, which would have been my other choice besides Ravenclaw was very appealing by its description. Their alumni included Merlin in the list, which is about the only Wizard I had ever heard of before reading the pamphlet.

Because it seemed both Slytherin and Ravenclaw strongly encouraged intelligence and ambition, and I was a very ambitious little boy, they seemed the most appealing. Having grown up as the least favorite, always receiving hand me downs and doing the chores, I had longed to be free of all that, to make my own way in the world, and even sometimes dreamed of having great power to affect the hearts and minds of people. I wanted them to respect me for sure, but I also wanted them to treat me and each other with kindness, which I admit was lacking in the house on Privet Drive. Ravenclaw was my first choice because it's description resonated with my tendency to be a bit of a loner. Even at muggle school, I never had any friends, and preferred to go it alone.

On the other hand, I had learned early the _importance_ of rules, and why they must be bent or broken. Rules exist to order society as it is, _not as it could be_. If everyone follows the rules, then nothing changes. Slytherin seemed to me to be about change, for good or ill. And I particularly liked the fact that they fessed up to their dirty laundry, whereas none of the other houses seemed to admit any of the shameful deeds by their alumni.

After reading through the welcome booklet, I turned to the guide for parents, and read the introductory letter, written by Minerva McGonagall.

Dear Parent or Guardian,

I expect this is all a bit of a shock for you and I deeply empathize with your confusion. Your child is special, and has been chosen to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry tuition free. The only cost to you is the cost of books and equipment, however; should that prove beyond your current means, our student aid program will see to it that your child is sufficiently outfitted to fully participate in our curriculum.

You may request additional and official details of our school from the Ministry of Education, Department for Children, Schools, and Families:

Attn: Nichole Wormalden  
School Enquiries  
Sanctuary Buildings  
Great Smith Street  
London

If you have any questions that are not fully answered by the guide for parents and guardians, please write them down, insert them into an envelope, and address them to:

Minerva McGonagall  
Hogwarts

And give the envelope to the owl waiting outside your home. If the owl has left, or you have additional questions after sending, you may address your envelope to:

Great Britain Central Owlry  
Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts  
1 Heathfield Terrace  
London

Due to the number of errors and confusion in the past, and for your convenience, two addressed and stamped envelopes are attached to the end of this guide. Do not worry about the size of your letter, just insert them as if the envelopes were big enough.

Naturally, if you are uncomfortable naming the school to which your children are attending, please use the schools official alternative name: St. Paul's School for the Gifted. In this guide you will find several acceptable and time tested cover stories should you be asked too many nosy questions by pushy neighbors. You will also find a list of Frequently Asked Questions By Busy-Bodies and Friends and various successful responses.

I kindly await your questions, by Owl or Muggle Post, on or before July the 31st.

Sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress

This guide of about 61 pages contained all manner of information. Books were to be purchased someplace called Diagon Alley, which was reachable by public transport to the Leaky Cauldron at the address 92b Charing Cross Rd, just before The Cambridge Pub. It was important, the guide said, that their child accompany them to help navigate. Once they entered the Leaky Cauldron, they would be directed to the entrance of Diagon Alley. I would later learn that the entire guide and package was under the **Credulous Charm**, which made people take everything at face value, and not bother to question anything too deeply. Of course, you must understand that as a young man I had always been a bit clever, perhaps too clever. Because I experienced the world in such a different way than my school mates, or Dudley, I had gotten used to just accepting weird things and to a certain extent keeping my mouth shut about questions. If I had questions, they were never welcome on Privet Drive. So I tended to keep my own counsel.

I thumbed through the pages of the guide which contained small maps of both the London area surrounding the Leaky Cauldron and one of Diagon Alley, with certain places on the map marked with a star that appeared to be moving ever so slightly. I found that touching the star with my finger changed the image slightly, showing the name of the shop with references to the list of equipment and books needed. One star showed Madame Malkin's Robes for all Occasions, and another Flourish and Blott's, where books could be purchased. A large '£' sign floated above a central location on the map, Gringott's Bank.

A following page held a table of monetary conversion rates. Wizarding money was apparently still precious metals of Gold, Silver, and Bronze. A single Galleon, that is a coin of gold, contains an ingot of 1 gram of gold, which is roughly £4.46. Of course the exchange rates have significantly changed since 1998. A Silver Sickle, which contains 2 grams of silver is worth about £0.22. The Bronze Knut is about a penny, or £0.01.

Parents and Guardians are encouraged to open an account at Gringott's in the name of their child, as they will be "pleasantly surprised at the monetary stability to be found there" read the note appearing just after the table of conversions.

At this point, probably under the effect of the **Credulous Charm**, I decided to present the package to my Aunt and Uncle. With the guides and packets and letters stuffed under my arm, I triumphantly entered the kitchen where Uncle Vernon was sitting chortling at some story in the daily paper, and plopped the whole mess down.

"Guess what, I've been accepted to a school called Hogwarts, " I practically shouted the information out. The looks I received were completely unexpected. My Aunt Petunia, far from looking confused, was utterly terrified, and perhaps a little disgusted. My Uncle Vernon began to flush beet red, as if he was angry.

"Hogwarts! Not a chance, I won't have you loafing about at some nonsense pansy school, " he began to yell.

I was surprised they had even heard of it. But of course they had heard of it, explained my Aunt Petunia. She related how my mother had gotten the same kind of letter, and went off to that freak school and married my no-account father. Uncle Vernon, still angry, simply repeated what Petunia said with more volume and force. Emphasing "no-account."

"And then they went and got themselves murdered by another freak, and you left on our doorstep, when we had little dudders to care for already." She continued.

The word murdered caught my ears. Talking about my parents was generally discouraged, and I had never managed to get much of anything out of either of them on the subject, except that they had died in a car accident, and I had been with them, which is how I had the scar on my forehead. It was a strange scar, and I often looked at it, trying to imagine how I had gotten it. It was long and thin, and stretched from my hairline to just above my right eye. It was shaped like a lightning bolt, and sometimes it would hurt, very bad.

"You said they died in a car crash. Murdered? Who did it?" I screamed out, now I was flushed to the cheeks with anger.

What was said after that is all a blur, but it came down to the fact that I wasn't going to Hogwarts because they wouldn't pay. However, Uncle Vernon with a mischievous twist to his copious mustache told me that if I could pay for it, if I could get my stuff, and if I could arrange for everything, I could go.

I imagine he thought himself very clever, he hadn't said no, but he had meant it.

I returned to my cupboard to sulk a bit and try to figure out a way to go to Hogwarts with my own money. I took out the box hidden behind a loose board in the wall that contained all my worldly wealth. I counted it. £97.43. I counted it again. And again. I must have counted it a hundred times, hoping each time that it would be more.

I tried to do the figures in my head, I read and reread the guide which indicated that the costs could be upwards of £200. Then I recalled the aid program; perhaps that could help me. I took out a piece of paper and began writing a letter:

Dear Headmistress McGonagall,

Thank you for accepting me to your school, but I have some bad news. My Aunt and Uncle have refused to pay for any special schooling, and have decided they will not help me to attend Hogwarts, so I don't really know how I could go, except I heard about the aid program, and I was wondering if I could qualify. I have £97.43 and maybe the aid program can help me make up the difference, but there is also the cost of travel to and from the school, so I just don't think it's possible, and maybe you should put me down for next year, and I can try to save more.

I am sorry if you are too busy to help with my case, and I won't feel bad if you don't have time to reply.

Sincerely  
H. Potter

I walked out the front door and saw a brown owl resting on the fence. I took the letter over to it which the owl seized in its claws and flew off straight away. I shuffled back into the house and stood in front of my door. I already felt bad about the letter. I was always living on peoples' charity. My Aunt and Uncle had often said as much. I tried not to. I didn't want handouts, but I was only 11, and I couldn't even get a proper job. I decided I couldn't face the Dursleys, and since it was a Sunday, I chose to go for a walk to the local park and try to be alone.

Afternoon was coming on slowly and the sun was high in the sky, partially obscured by the clouds. A cool breeze was blowing. The old park, which used to be filled with small children had fallen into disuse and disrepair. Children at that time had lost the desire or will to play outdoors, preferring the television as a form of entertainment. I however preferred being out in the world, away from the Dursleys, and honestly away from almost everyone.

I sat swinging in my favorite swing, the furthest to the left. It made a sickly squeeking sound as I rocked back and forth. The repetition soothed my mind and helped me to think. That habit, which I have kept till this day gave my Aunt Petunia a bit of an issue when she became convinced by a doctor that I was semi-autistic. The Dursleys didn't hold with anything out of the ordinary, and the doctor's prognosis seemed to confirm to them that there was something intrinsically wrong with me. My Aunt Marge, the sister of Uncle Vernon, had latched onto this idea, and whenever she visited brought it up. Aunt Marge was always drawing not-so-subtle comparisons between children and dogs, as she was a dog breeder of Rottweilers.

I don't know how much time had passed when suddenly out of nowhere an owl appeared, swooping towards me so fast I didn't have time to duck. Luckily it only dropped a small note on my lap and flapped away just as quickly as it had appeared.

I tore the envelope to shreds trying to get at the note within it, I wondered if it could be a response from McGonagall. Maybe they had accepted me to the aid program and I could go to Hogwarts after all.

Dear Mr. Potter

Thank you for your owl updating us about your situation. A representative has been dispatched to accompany you to Diagon Alley and to aid you in acquiring your supplies. An explanatory note has been sent to your Aunt and Uncle.

Please remain in the swing.

Minerva McGonagall

I looked around, and wondered how she knew where I was, or that I was in a swing. Of course I didn't know about Scrying at the time which would have allowed her to view me with ease.

I swung slowly as I re-read the note again. A representative has been dispatched. What did that mean? The school would have to be very close if they were to get here on time. No sooner than I had thought this than I noticed a large beefy man walking towards me. His swinging gait made him appear to bounce up and down, getting taller and taller as he approached. He was gigantic, tall and barrel chested in a long black coat and a broad black beard with greyed streaks in it.


	2. The Keeper of the Keys

"Agrid's the name." The giant man said, "keeper of the keys and grounds at 'ogwarts. You'll be little 'arry, then, " He beamed a smile? "Dumbledore's sent me to take you up ter Diagon Alley ter getcher things." Hagrid stared. I wasn't really sure what to say.

Hagrid smiled again, a big toothy and kind smile, the wrinkles around his eyes multiplied and I immediately felt at ease. I stood up, and extended my hand. His hand, as big as a large plate took it and shook forcefully.

"Nice to meet you Hagrid, " I finally said as I withdrew my hand.

"But, I haven't any money, at least, I have a bit, only I've left it in my cuppboard, " I rattled on and on, telling him how if he could wait 10 minutes, I could go and fetch it and so on. But he shook his head, it was no matter, we'd stop at Gringott's and get the money from my account.

"My account, " I asked?

"Course 'arry, your mum and da' left summat fer ya there. Sure enough. Now, umm..." Hagrid paused as he began to root around in his giant coat for something. Finding it, a small wobbly headed hoola girl like you see people put in their cars. He turned his left hand over and it was covered in small watches, only one of which looked like it actually told time, the others had weird symbols on them.

"Right then, 2:30, we have about 1 minute. Put your finger on the doll 'arry. That's a good lad."

We stood there for a few seconds, I began to feel stupid when all of the sudden I felt a jerking sensation just under my navel and the feeling of flying very fast through a small pipe. With a little pop, I found myself standing with Hagrid in a large white circle in the corner of a smokey pub.

"Quick 'arry, step out of the circle." Hagrid pushed me so hard that I almost fell forward. Just then another pop and standing where I had been was an old hunch-backed hag in fuschia robes. Spry as a teenager she hopped out of the circle and over to the bar to order a drink.

"When someone's in the circle, others can't arrive, best to hop out as soon as you land, " said Hagrid with a smile.

At that moment the bartender greeted Hagrid, "The usual then, " he asked?

"Can't Tom, 'ogwarts business." Hagrid beamed with pride as he gripped my shoulders painfully. Tom eyed me for a moment closely.

"Good Lord Hagrid, is that Harry Potter, " Tom exclaimed? The pub went silent, suddenly all eyes fell on me.

"What an honor Mr. Potter." said Tom, bowing forward.

A man rushed up out of nowhere, short, thin, a green cloak and hat with a broad wide belt buckle and boots where the ends curled up and over themselves a few times.

"Welcome back Mr. Potter. Welcome back. Such an honor, " he said bowing low and then seizing my hand in a violent attempt to shake it.

This continued for several minutes, even over the shouts of Hagrid to give me some room. I of course had no idea what was going on, and why everyone not only seemed to know me, but seemed to think I had somehow done something they should thank me for. Of course I didn't seem to think too much of it at first. I just accepted it as the reality and shook their hands, and nodded, and thanked them.

Finally the last man was shaking my hand: "Mundungus Fletcher Mr. Potter, it's such an honor."

Hagrid hurried me toward the back door.

"Hagrid? Where are we?" I asked a bit perplexed.

"Leaky Cauldron. Nice place for a kip and chat fer sure, but we need to hurry, we've a lot of shopping to do." He said, pushing open the back door which opened to a blank brick wall.

"But, it's Sunday, " I said.

"Don' worry 'arry, Wizards don't have weekends. S'not like Muggles. Always takin' a break, " Hagrid chuckled as he rummaged in his coat again to pull out a long pink umbrella.

"Why were all those people bowing and shaking my hand, and acting like I am famous?" I asked casually.

"Oh, creepin dragon scales. You don't know?" said Hagrid, his brow furrowed. "But didn't you read the letter?"

"The one from Hogwarts, of course, " I replied.

"No, the one from Dumbledore, " Hagrid said as he backed up slowly and sat down on a pile of bricks.

He explained to me that Dumbledore had left me a letter on the night he gave me to the Dursleys, explaining everything. That I was to be given the day I was accepted to Hogwarts. I would later learn that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had burned the letter, and never intended to give it to me.

"Aw 'arry, I'm not the one for this, " Hagrid seemed terrified and saddened.

I told him that it was okay, and that I wanted to know. He began to tell me the story.

"There was this Wizard see, as bad as they get. Well, he got himself some followers, and started taken over. It was bad times. Bad times for everyone, but especially anyone who wasn't, well, a normal wizard like. Anway, yer mum and da', and Dumbledore and meself, and a lot of other people, we, well, was against this wizard. Anyway, fer some reason, I don' rightly know, he decided he was gonna kill your family. I mean he was bad, he wanted to kill all of you. So yer mum and da' took you into hidin', but he found you all. He tried to kill you all too, he murdered your da' and yer mum, but when he turned to kill you, well, he couldn't. Not fer tryin' I saw. He blew up the whole house he did. I was there. Sent by Dumbledore to rescue you. There was nothin' left. Of the house, or him. Just you. You'd survived. No one had ever lived when You-know-who had decided to kill 'em." Hagrid paused when I interrupted.

"You-know-who? I don't. What was this wizard's name, " I asked?

"Ah, don't make me say the name 'arry. We never say the name, " He shook his head.

"Could you write it, " I asked?

"Nah, can't spell it. Okay, Voldemort, " Hagrid said with a shiver and a compulsive look over his shoulder.

Even after 10 years of him being gone, as Hagrid explained, people still didn't use the name. Names have power he explained, they are magical. And the rumor was Voldemort had made it a rule among his followers, people called the Death Eaters, that if they overheard anyone use the name, they had to be killed. It was a rumor at least.

"Well, after that, he disappeared and everything went back to normal. So the story goes yer special, somethin' about you caused the curse to rebound and kill him. Most think he's gone. Codswallop if you ask me. He's still out there Dumbledore says, bidin' his time till he can return to power." Hagrid finished and began to rub his knees.

"Cripes 'arry, yer takin' this pretty well." Hagrid said.

"Well, it's just what is." I replied.

Hagrid eyed me suspiciously.

"Did yeh read the paren's guide 'arry?" He asked.

"Course. The Dursleys wouldn't, " I responded.

Hagrid sighed, "that explains it." He began to rummage in his coat, which seemed to have an infinite number of pockets that could swallow up his entire arm. Then he pulled out a vial.

"The guide's charmed. **Credulous**. It makes the muggles think everything is okay and just accept it all. Otherwise, we'd have a devil of a time getting new students from muggle families. They'd just chuck the letter, or worse make a stink about it. The charm only works if you read the introductory letter though. Dumbledore, brilliant man, figured you'd read it all, and gave me this. Nearly forgot." said Hagrid as he uncorked the bottle.

"Now listen to me Harry. When you drink this, you gotta promise to keep an open mind. " He said.

"I promise." I replied, taking the vial and sniffing it, it smelled like grape juice and tasted like grape bubblegum. When I drank it, a warm feeling ran throughout my body and suddenly my head filled with questions, by the thousands. And then one floated to the top. Why me?

My knees became week and I collapsed onto the pile of bricks next to Hagrid.

"Takes the wind out yer sails dunnit" said Hagrid.

"This can't be happening. I'm not a wizard. This is incredible." I said, shaking my head.

"Course yer a wizard 'arry. " said Hagrid.

"But, there's no such thing as magic. " I cupped my face in my hands. What was I doing here. I had followed a strange man to London. Believed I was going to a school for magic. This had to be some kind of joke. But then I started to remember. The package, the strange trip to London. All the strange things in my life. In fact, it seemed for a moment that I had gone insane. Even weird things that I had accepted before, like talking with snakes or animals, or that time when Dudley and his friends at school had chased me and I suddenly appeared on the top of the gymnasium. It all seemed fake, like memories from someone else, or from a movie.

"This can't be real." I said again.

"Oh krell, bout a drop too much I reckon, " Hagrid said, "jus breathe, it'll pass, try to keep an open mind 'arry, remember yer promise."

I remembered that I had promised that, and I tried to open my mind, a few deep breaths and the panic faded. I felt me again. I decided to stuff most of the questions down, as usual. I would get them answered on my own. Adults were notoriously untrustworthy as sources of information. If they told you anything at all, it was always less than you needed to know. I picked an easy question that could be answered.


	3. Diagon Alley

"How did we get here?" I asked.

"Portkey." said Hagrid who had picked up his umbrella and was tapping an odd colored brick on the wall which caused it to open up into a large street filled with shops that looked like something out of the 16th century. Hundreds of people in various colored robes and pointed hats were walking up and down streets, and in and out of shops.

"A what, " I asked again?

"They'll be time enough for that later 'arry, we need to head to Gringott's. I've got some 'ogwarts business there as well. Mission from Dumbledore. He trusts me with important stuff like that. Takin' you to get yer things, fetchin' things from Gringott's.

At that very moment, a tall thin wizard with a turban walked out the back door, looked at Hagrid and froze for a moment.

"Ah, Hagrid. P-P-Pleasure to see you here." the man stuttered.

"Professor Quirrell. Nice to see you," Hagrid smiled.

"What are you d-d-doing here," Quirrell asked?

"Just taking 'arry to get his school things," Hagrid winked in my direction.

Quirrell gave a start and seemed terrified as he looked slowly in my direction, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"P-P-Potter. W-w-what a lovely surprise," he said and began to wring his hands.

"'arry, this is Professor Quirrell, he's yer Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year at 'ogwarts, " said Hagrid.

I offered Quirrell my hand, but he withdrew his hands closer to his chest, and shrunk away from me.

"What brings you here Professor, " asked Hagrid?

"Oh, me? Oh. Yes. I am here to g-g-get a new book on v-v-vampires. Yes, just out, very new," Quirrell replied. He looked the type to run in terror if he ever met a vampire in real life.

"Oh, can I have the title, I was hoping to order some extra reading material" I asked, pulling out notebook and a pencil from my back pocket?

"Oh, yes. Um. The title, " Quirrell asked again?

"Yeah, I'll look for it," I replied, the pencil hovering over my notebook.

"The **Brotherhood of Blood**, by a Japanese wizard. Yukizaki or something, well, I must be off, good to see you Hagrid, Mr. Potter, good-bye, " he said as he rushed past Hagrid as fast as he could.

"Blimey that's the strangest one so far" said Hagrid, shaking his head. "There's a new one every year at 'ogwarts. 'fraid the good ones 'ave come and gone now. But see 'ow famous yer are. Even Quirrell was tremblin' to meet ya. Well, lately he's always tremblin'. Brilliant man, so's I hear. Least he was when learnin' from books. Took a year off to travel, hasn't been the same since. Seems he had a run in with some vampires in the Black Forest, or Albania or summat."

After our strange meeting with Quirrell, Hagrid guided me to Gringott's, a tall white stone building, almost a fortress really at the end of Diagon Alley. The building was so tall, I was amazed people didn't see it from the street and ask all kinds of nosy questions. The street was filled with stalls selling various wares interspersed with shop fronts. The sun glistened across stacks of Cauldrons, the sign read - All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self Stirring - Collapsible.

"Yup, you'll be needin' one of those, but first, we need to get yer money." said Hagrid, gesturing to the large white building. "Gringott's. Safest place in the world to put something. 'cept 'ogwarts o' course. Run by Goblins you see. Don' never cross a goblin." He added.

"Goblins, " I choked slightly?

As we mounted the steps and approached the entrance I saw one for the first time, short, thin and wrinkled with wide eyes and long pointy but horizontal ears. He was wearing a uniform of red and gold, a top hat and standing next to him was a large pike with a nasty looking point.

"Yeh, thas' a goblin. Like I said, don' cross 'em. Goblin' blades absorb magic, anything you shoot at 'em. Anything powerful, makes 'em stronger yeh see."

I noticed his long fingers tipped with thick sharp looking nails, talons really. His feet were longer than you'd expect for his short height, the tip of his hat was about level with my chin. He bowed as we passed the through the first doors of shining gold to a second pair of doors of polished silver. And on them was written a message:

Enter stranger but take heed  
Of what awaits the sin of greed  
For those who take but do not earn  
Must pay most dearly in their turn  
So if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours  
Thief you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there.

"Stark ravin' mad to try an' rob it." Hagrid added as I finished reading the inscription.

As soon as we walked in, Hagrid approached the nearest free goblin.

"Mornin', " said Hagrid. "We need to get 'arry Potter 'ere access to the Quill and let him check his vault."

"You have his identification?"

"Ah, got it right here" said Hagrid rummaging through his coat pockets once more, scattering a handful of dog biscuits all over the goblin's desk. The goblin's face showed his disgust as he began to brush them over the side onto the floor, but they never touched it, they just _poofed_ out of existence.

"Found it," said Hagrid, holding up a small little key.

The goblin looked it over closely.

"This seems to be in order."

"Oh, and before I forget," said Hagrid quickly, "I've got a letter from Dumbledore," he continued, puffing his chest out proudly, "about you know what in vault 713."

The goblin read the letter slowly.

"Very well, " he said as he handed the letter back to Hagrid, "Griphook will take you to both vaults, then you may return for Mr. Potter's ritual."

"What's you-know-what in vault 713?" I asked innocently.

"Oh, can' tell yeh that 'arry, " said Hagrid with an air of mystery, "very secret. 'ogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Griphook was a dapper young goblin, fresh faced and eager looking. He gestured for us to come towards him, took my key, looked it over, and took out a small lock from his vest pocket and inserted the key. He turned it and the room faded out, like a really blurry camera image and then back. It was dark and cold and we were standing in a large circular room with thousands upon thousands of tiny doors from floor to ceiling. We set off after Griphook in a direction only he understood, as we approached the wall, one of the doors began to grow bigger and the ones surrounding it smaller. By the time we arrived the door was normal sized. On the door was written: **Godric's Hollow**. Griphook turned the knob on the door. We walked through into a large hallway, and then on down the hall for several minutes.

There were no doors, only bare rock walls. Finally Griphook stopped, turned to the wall and stroked it. A doorway formed in front of him, and we passed through it into my family's vault. Light began to grow brighter as torches around the small room ignited and flickered in a breeze that wasn't there. The vault was as large as a small bedroom and it was filled to the brim with all manner of strange things. On the right side, in the back was a pile of wizard money. Such a pile I had never seen, except perhaps in a pirate movie. Galleons and Sickles and Knuts galore. Hagrid passed me a small draw string bag, "fill it up so you can have a bit of spending money." I took the bag and filled it with a several large handfuls of galleons and sickles. Then I grabbed a handful of Bronze Knuts and dumped them in the bag. I looked inside the bag, and to my surprise they had collected together into piles of each, well separated.

"Yeh don't need too much 'arry, you can always get more out once you have the Quill, " Said Hagrid.

"The what?" I asked.

"You'll see, let's get a move on, " said Hagrid, gesturing for me to follow him. I wanted so much to stay and look at all the different things. I wanted to explore everything, and see what my parents had valued. As I was walking back towards the door, I tripped on a small worn and shabby leather suitcase. I bent down to pick it up and realized there was a letter attached: To Harry, for school.

I picked it up quickly and then followed Hagrid and Griphook back out, back to the circular room. There we took another direction, and the door that appeared said: High Security.

Griphook took out a large key from his coat pocket and opened the door. The hallway was vast and tall, almost as tall as a sky scraper, and made with white marble stone. As we walked down the hall, I noticed the walls were carved floor to ceiling with horrific scenes of death and war, dragons burning people alive, people being impaled, flayed, and many other things I couldn't even name at such a tender age. Griphook noticed my looking and grinned wide.

"It is a fine education along these walls," Griphook's face suddenly lost expression, "all the worst things one creature can do to another. The very worst."

I noticed that many of the carvings depicted goblins, being tortured, being killed. Some had goblin families, hiding or fleeing in terror. Some had Giants. Some Wizards. Sometimes they were the victims, other times the victimizers. A great feeling of sadness washed over me. A tear started to come out of my eye, and I began to cry and not even know why. I looked up to see Hagrid bawling for all it was worth. Even Griphook had a pained expression.

"It is called the Hall of Tears for a reason, " said Griphook, " created by goblins over a thousand years ago as a memorial place. It has accumulated every sad and horrific deed done in the wizarding world."

Griphook removed a spyglass and looked high on the walls up to the vaulted ceilings. "There, " he pointed towards a part of the ceiling far ahead and handed me the spyglass. I looked where he was pointing. I could barely make out what I was seeing, but it was of a group of wizards, it looked like they were holding sticks with lightening streaming out of them, and other wizards and goblins and many creatures, dying. Then a small house. A cottage, but it was all rubble.

"Yours, " said Griphook in a whisper.

We continued down the hall to the very end, and stopped before a tall door. Griphook began to stroke the door oddly, fast, and slow, from different angles. Finally it melted away.

"If anybody but a Gringott's goblin were to attempt it, they would be sucked through the door. And trapped inside."

"How often do you check to see if anyone's tried, " I asked.

"Once every 10 years, " smiled Griphook.

I had expected to see a vault filled with treasure and wonders. Instead, it was a small room, and inside on the floor, a grubby little package wrapped in newspaper and tied off with twine. Hagrid seized the package and quickly disappeared it into one of his many pockets.

"Griphook, " I asked, "does the wall run out of room, for showing horrible things?"

"Often, " he said, "too often, when it runs out of room, it starts again."

"Okay Griphook, let's get outta 'ere huh, " Hagrid wiped a tear away from his eye, "this place gives me the willies."

Back in the main hall of Gringott's, Griphook escorted us to a room off to the side with a small table with two handprints on them. I put my hands there, and Griphook started drawing strange signs in the air with his finger, they lingered where his finger had been for a moment and then slowly fell towards the backs of my hands. They burned slightly as they touched my skin.

"It is done, you have the Quill, " said Griphook.

"Right. Uh. What is the Quill, " I asked?

Griphook explained that carrying around money was dangerous, especially gold, it was also damned inconvenient. Instead I was being issued a Quill. Not a literal one, what it meant was that in shops, all I had to do was sign the bill and the money would automatically be transferred from my vault to that of the seller. He explained that the Quill means that my signature would now carry a magical key, not just any signature, but one with the _intent to pay_. He said that so long as I had money in my vault, enough to pay, I could _sign with intent_. However, if I didn't have the money to pay, I wouldn't be able to sign.

"Like a credit card, " I asked?

"If you mean to compare a mindless piece of muggle plastic to one of the most complicated pieces of Goblin magic ever invented, then yes " he said curtly, seeming almost insulted for anything at Gringott's to be compared to a muggle institution. I would later learn about the pride of Goblins, well earned, and their natural distaste for wizards, also well earned. Since muggles are in their eyes beneath even a wizard, it's doubly and insult.

"Can people steal my signature, " I asked?

"No. Nor can you be forced to sign _against your will_. We will know. We always know, " Griphook trailed off.

As we were leaving, I suddenly remembered to ask Griphook if I could have an account summary. He waved his hand in the air and a thin leather bound book appeared. He gave it to me and I tucked it under my arm.

Hagrid and I stepped outside into the fresh air.


	4. Shop till you drop

"That place gives me the collywobbles, " said Hagrid, leaning against one of the pillars outside the Golden Door. "You mind if I nip into the Cauldron for a bit of a pick me up?"

I told him I didn't, that I had my list of things to get, and that I could take care of it.

He told me that on the list I was allowed an Owl, and that he would get that for me, as a birthday present. He said he knew animals better than most. So he would pick the very best. We decided to meet outside Eyelops Owl Emporium in an hour.

I felt a bit strung out as well, and spotted Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and decided to buy myself an ice cream and pause for a moment to take it all in. I sat down at an open table on the terrace and set the suitcase, account report, and bag of money on the table. Florean, the proprietor came out and asked what I wanted.

"Vanilla Ice cream, " I said.

"Syrups? We have the regular Cherry, Chocolate, Butterscotch as well as Bertie Botts Every Flavor Syrup, s'like the beans, only in syrup form, " Florean rattled off mindlessly.

"Just vanilla, " I repeated.

"Suit yerself."

He hurried off and returned with a dish containing 3 monstrous balls of vanilla ice cream. At that moment he must have looked more closely at my face, as his eyes widened and he rushed off back to the shop. A few moments later his head poked out from around the corner, followed by a pleasant looking woman, and a frizzy haired teenage girl who must have been his daughter. As soon as they saw me looking, they jerked their heads back inside, and I started to eat my ice cream, sneaking looks back in their direction to see if they were still looking at me, but they weren't.

After finishing my ice cream I got up to leave and Florean appeared beside me.

"I hope you enjoyed yourself Mr. Potter, " he said. I almost asked how he knew my name, but decided there wasn't much point. I wasn't sure I would ever get used to being known by people. Deep inside, I felt ashamed of my fame. I had always wanted to be famous, but for something I had actually done, or at least intended to do. Being famous for not dying when your parents, two people you love most in the world, or should at least, seemed shameful. Like yet another handout. I hate handouts.

"Yes, it was the best ice cream I've ever had, " I said honestly, "how much do I owe you?"

"Oh no, no, no. That won't do at all. Harry Potter doesn't pay at my shop. You-know-who...was not kind to my family. No, Harry Potter will never pay at this shop, your money is no good here, but you are welcome anytime, day or night."

The way he had mentioned Voldemort made me think better of arguing with him. I thanked him profusely and left. He was a kind man, and over the years became a good friend. It is terrible what happened later. I keep in touch with his daughter Ariadne though, she's become quite the ice cream patroness in her own right, and is still the only person in the wizarding world who can make a decent vanilla ice cream.

As I stood up, I realized that I was becoming increasingly weighed down by my acquisitions. I spotted a shop called **Madame Malkin's Robes for all Occasions** and stopped in to get what was on my list, and hoped to find a shoulder bag. The shop was spacious and neat, everything hung up on racks and rows with little signs handwritten with little bats, or pumpkins to dot the 'i's and 'j's. I looked around for a moment until I came across a large display of various bags. They were marked by weird sizes, starting at 0.5m3 to 1.5m3. I picked up one marked 1.5m3 and looked inside, the bottom was strangely far away. It was big enough to almost fit me entirely, and the suitcase, despite that from the outside it looked barely larger than your average school bag. I looked at the outside design, it was covered in green and black dragons coiling around each other and they seemed to be moving, to be alive. There was a large flap that connected to it by a silver buckle. I watched the design for a moment and then decided I liked it enough. I put my suitcase and account report in the bag and carried it with me. I took out the list and read it over:

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat(black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Since I hadn't brought a change of clothes, I looked around first for jeans. I found something similar, they looked and felt like them, but they didn't come in many normal colors. The only ones that weren't bright red, or pink, or lime green were black. Wizards like brightly colored clothing, and many of them have no sense of color combination. I decided to go with one black and one red, these were two colors I could at least imagine wearing in the muggle world as well, without drawing too much attention. The belt loops on the pants were about twice as wide as normal, and so were all of the belts. I became utterly fascinated by a thick leather belt with a wide silver buckle that featured a strange creature with the head and wings of an eagle, the fore legs of a lion and the body of a horse, I decided I liked it, I also picked up several tunics, which is a kind of old style shirt, because Madame Malkin didn't have any T-Shirts, in fact everything within the shop seemed to have come right out of the 16th or 17th century.

I looked down at my shoes, and decided that I should get a new pair, and maybe some winter boots as well. I picked a dark brown leather pair of boots that went almost up to my knees, and a wintery pair in black with a lining of what looked like rabbit fur.

Carrying my stuff over my arm, I walked up to a squat jovial looking witch in amethyst silken robes and asked for assistance.

"Hogwarts dear?" she asked, "I've got the lot here, another boy's being fitted now, you can join him." She gestured absent mindedly towards the back.

I went to the back of the shop, where a young boy with a pale face and platinum blond hair was standing on a stool, while another witch in bright green and purple robes was measuring, pinning, and cutting black robes to fit him. She gestured to the stool beside him, and I stood on it.

"Hogwarts as well?" said the boy.

"Yes, " I said.

"My father is next door buying my books with mother, then we'll be going to Ollivander's for a wand. After that, I plan to drag them off to look at racing brooms, " he said in a drawling voice. "I don't see why first years can't have their own brooms, I think I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own broom?" "

"No." I said. Noting that maybe I should get one as well. Though, I wasn't sure it would fit in the bag I had gotten.

"Play Quidditch?" He asked.

"No." I said. Beginning to realize how truly behind I was on the wizarding world, I didn't know anything about these things, it was like he was speaking a different language.

"Know what house you'll be in yet?" He asked.

"No, I like Ravenclaw, or Slytherin. They sound the best." I said, finally glad to talk about something I knew.

"Well, no one _really_ knows where they will end up, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been. Ravenclaw is also good. Gryffindor's are a bit too puffed up if you ask me. And Hufflepuff are just low class," He said.

There was a slight pause as the witch took off the robes she was fitting to them and waved her wand, they folded neatly and landed on a pile of the rest of his robes on a low table.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," the boy said, extending his hand.

"Harry Potter, " I extended mine and he smiled, shaking it.

His parents showed up moments later to collect him, and he introduced us. His father was curt but polite, Lucious Malfoy, and his mother, Narcissa, was rather aloof but kindly. She had startling grey streaks in her hair, and a beautiful fairy like quality. I have to admit I rather fancied her after our first meeting. She seemed to care a lot for Draco, checking over his robes, straightening his hair. They waved goodbye and left for Ollivander's but I remained to be fitted for my robes, and then I asked her about the tunics and pants, which she hemmed and sized after a few moments with fast wand work. I was rather impressed with it all, as Aunt Petunia didn't even know how to sew, or if she did she couldn't be bothered. I was always going about in second hand pants from Dudley who was much taller than me, and so the pant legs bunched up under my heels and always developed holes and ragged bits. I gathered up my things and took them to the counter where the witch behind a large lock box asked "Coin or Quill?"

I decided to try the Quill, and she handed me the tally. Not cheap, about 41 galleons and 2 silver sickles, but I signed, and my signature momentarily glowed a bright green on the bill. The witch smiled and handed me a piece of paper where small script letters were appearing in random sequence. After a moment I realized it was a receipt, and I put it in my pocket. Things in the wizarding world are a bit expensive, but then again they have no concept of planned obsolescence and all things are built to last. With only moderate care the average robe lasts 10 or 20 years, and with magic they can be repaired almost indefinitely, if you are good at that sort of thing. _Mantuamancy_ is practically its own branch of magic and is difficult to do right.

I headed towards Eyelop's where I met Hagrid, he was proudly holding up a large bird cage with the most beautiful snowy white owl.

"Happy Birthday 'arry!" Hagrid exclaimed and presented the owl. It was the best birthday present I had ever received. I stuck my finger into the cage and the owl nibbled it gently.

"Now, she's a proud owl, comes from real good stock mind." Hagrid said, "did yeh get yer robes and all?"

"Yes, " I said, "and this bag to carry stuff."

"Oh dear, that'll not be big enough, you'll need a trunk for sure. No better place than **Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment** fer tha', " Hagrid said.

"Hagrid, what's Quidditch?" I asked.

"Cripes 'arry, I forget how much yeh can' even know. It's our sport. Like Muggle football I guess, or Rugby even. Well, Wizards play Rugby too, just no' as much." He added.

"So they kick around a ball?" I asked.

"Not really, it's played on brooms, flyin' in the air. And there are 3 types of balls, and different players do differen' things with 'em." Hagrid added, a bit at a loss to explain the basics. The more he talked, the more complicated it sounded. With _seekers_ sneaking after _snitches_ and _chasers_ pursuing _quaffles _and _beaters_ batting _bludgers_, and six goal posts with rings.

We went to Wiseacre's and purchased a large trunk with a pull handle and wheels. The label on it said 9 cubic meters of space. When I opened it, and looked inside it was larger than my cupboard at the Dursleys.

"How do they do this?" I asked Hagrid.

"A charm of somekind. I never finished me schooling, I think it's called **Dimensionem Alternis** or summat like that. Powerful magical charm."

"Is that like the letters? When I received mine there was more in the envelope than should have been able to fit, " I asked?

"No, shrinking spell, just makes stuff smaller, all wizard envelopes and packages do it. Easier on the owls, " He said.

I also purchased a small telescope with 200x magnification, nigh vision, infrared, and even the ability to detect magic, which showed up as fumes of different colored smoke and sparks.

I also got, from my list:

OTHER EQUIPMENT

Glass or Crystals Phials (On Hagrid's encouragement I bought twice as much as needed.)

Brass scales set (advanced with micro measurements)

From there we went to the **Potage's Cauldron Shop** where I bought a set of cauldrons in a small box, another shrinking spell I surmised as the cauldrons tripled in size as you removed them. There was a Pewter, Copper, Iron, Silver, and Gold. The whole set cost a small fortune and Hagrid tried to dissuade me, but I felt a strange pull to them. They were so iconic to magic, the witches cauldron. From there we went on to **Slug and Jigger's Apothecary**, where I purchased a basic set of potion ingredients. I didn't know what more to buy, but decided I would read up on the subject and come back for more if I wanted to experiment.

From there we went to **Flourish and Blotts'** to buy my school books, I took out my list:

COURSE BOOKS

**The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1** by Miranda Goshawk

**A History of Magic** by Bathilda Bagshot

**Magical Theory** by Adalbert Waffling

**A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration** by Emetic Switch

**One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi** by Phillida Spore

**Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them** by Newt Scamander

**The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection** by Quentin Trimble

Luckily they had all the books for Hogwarts as a boxed set. I wandered around the store for a moment and picked up several other books. **Hogwarts, a history** and **Sites of Historical Sorcery**, a used copy of **The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts**, and **DIY Magic for the Home Tinkerer** which seemed to list spells and techniques for DIY projects and tinkering with magic items to make them better or stronger. I figured it would be the perfect complement to my existing hobby of tinkering with electronics. I also picked up a copy of **Wizard Idioms for Idiots** by Majorie N. Paramour, and **A Dictionary of Magical Terms** by the Mugwump Linguistic Society. I felt these two things would be essential, otherwise I should spend half my time asking dumb questions that could be answered by a basic dictionary.

It was getting late, so we went back to the leaky cauldron for dinner. When we were finished Hagrid asked me if I would be able to get back on the train, as he was late for a meeting with Dumbledore. I said yes, it wouldn't be a problem, so he left and I sat there.

I reached into my bag and pulled out my Gringotts account statement. I opened it up and there was written the total.

34,511 Galleons, 11, 410 Sickles and 700 Knuts.

I had never had so much money in my life. It was over £150,000. I looked at the next page, the last entries were from 10 years ago. Except for my latest withdrawal. The next to the last two, for 10,000 Galleons a piece. _Life Insurance payment_.

It was all there in black and white, the value of my parents' life. I would have paid more to have them back, to meet them. I was angry and sad at the same time. Part of me didn't want the money. I would have given it all back. Then I remembered the note attached to the briefcase, I had been too distracted to read it, too busy. But now in this quiet corner of the Leaky Cauldron, I took the letter out and flipped it over and over. I opened it carefully, took out the letter, and read.

Dear Harry,

If you are reading this letter, then it means things did not turn out the way we hoped. We know it will be a small comfort to you, an 11 year old boy, alone, facing his first journey into a new world of magic and mystery. We have worked hard to provide for you in our absence, and your father and I have left to you our most prized possessions in the case to which this letter is attached. In it, we have put our school diaries, a Potter family tradition to help the next generation with the knowledge gained from the past, which we hope you will read, and get to know us. They are unedited, with all our hopes and dreams and thoughts and even mistakes. We hope you will also take the time to write your own for the sake and education of our grandchildren, which we hope there will be many!

We know you will have a fabulous time at Hogwarts, and we hope that Albus Dumbledore is still headmaster there. We want you to listen to him, he is wise and a great friend, and we have asked him to look out for you. We hope that you mind your godfather Sirius, and we are sure that he has loved you like his own son.

Your father and I want to remind you to be brave and strong, and we wish for you to have a charmed life.

Please remember always that we love you, and will always love you, and will be smiling down on you from heaven, and protecting you in any way we can.

All our love,  
Mom and Dad

I felt sad at the letter. When you grow up never knowing your real parents, it's not like losing them when you are older, you are kind of numb to it. But reading this letter, it was like losing them now, today. I forced back the tears that were swelling up and tried to focus on being as detached as I could. I picked a random question to think about; Who is Sirius? I guessed that they had expected I would be staying with him, and not my Aunt and Uncle.

I put the case aside as Tom the bartender came over. "How was it Harry?" he asked. "I loved it," I said, "how much?"

"Don't you worry, Hagrid's taken care of it. Anything else?" he asked.

As a matter of fact, there was. I knew I was too behind in the wizarding world to be out of it for even a minute, I had less than a month before term started and there would be no possibility to get any respite from the Dursleys back on Privet Drive.

So I asked Tom if he would rent me a room for the rest of the month, and what the cost would be. He looked at me quizzically for a minute then shrugged. The weekly rate was 6 Galleons. It was settled. He showed me to a small shabby room with a little plush bed, couch and writing desk. I stacked my things up in the corner took the case with me to the couch, set it on the coffee table and flipped the buckles.


	5. The facts of the case

The case flew open with a snap. Inside it were several knick-knacks, a large folded sheet of parchment and a small box containing what seemed to me to be a sheer, silk cloak. A note spellotaped to it said: "Try me on at the mirror" so I did. To my surprise I turned completely invisible, except for the head. I sat down at the case, still wearing the cloak and rummaged through it a little more, in it was a small collection of 7 diaries belonging to my father and 7 from my mother, a book of what seemed like wizard themed fairy tales by Beedle the Bard with all sorts of odd drawings, a collection of letters between my mother and father, and a dusty album filled with pictures of my parents. Like all pictures in the Wizarding world, these moved and some even talked. It was simple conversation. What seemed captured in the image what not their knowledge, but their personality.

I picked up the folded parchment and looked at both sides, hoping to find something written there, but there was nothing. When I held the parchment, something about it was alluring, like it called out to me. I inspected it more closely. Talking aloud I said, "what are you?" but nothing happened. I took out my pencil and made a squiggle on the parchment but it disappeared. I grabbed my spyglass and looked at it from across the room on the lowest zoom setting, something you could configure with a small brass knob on the side. There was a faint amount of _green smoke_ and silvery green sparks coming off it, _every 13 seconds_ it would pulse brightly like clockwork.

After a while I gave up on the parchment entirely and began to read my father's first diary. In it he wrote about his first trip to Hogwarts, and the diary seemed to cover the entire first year, and each successive diary the next, and about reading his own father's diaries. Mostly he just complained about being made to do it himself as he didn't intend to have any children, he wanted to live "a free and easy life ". His handwriting was almost completely illegible, and I was only able to make out every 2nd or 3rd word half the time.

He wrote about the sorting ceremony, and seemed very happy to have been placed in Gryffindor. His father had been in Gryffindor, and his before him, and it was some kind of tradition. I sat and wondered if I would be in Gryffindor too, I hadn't thought about it much, and it hadn't really seemed the place for me. I wasn't particularly brave, or even honest. At least I didn't feel that way. Living with the Dursleys had taught me that total honesty was a sure ticket to problems, at least that was Filiborn's conclusion and after the way they reacted to the letter, and the fact that they had flat out lied about my parents' death, I decided adults didn't need to know certain things, they just couldn't handle them. I missed Filliborn, and my other garden friends as I liked to call them.

For a moment, I began to think that my life was really very strange. I used to think that there was something wrong with me. I didn't play like other kids, what they seemed to like to do never appealed much to me. I always had my nose stuck in a book, or was out in the garden, or the forest by the park where I would talk to snakes and other animals. Many of them were intelligent, especially the snakes, and they seemed to delight in sharing their knowledge with me. Most teachers liked me because I was "so quiet and mature," they said. Some of them were a bit put off because I was perspicacious, and would often see through their petty manipulations. One teacher, Mrs. McMullen, a stout Scottish woman with horn-rimmed glasses and a severe topknot had once told me that I was "more precocious than you ought to be Potter."

I stopped reminiscing for the moment and returned my mind to the room in the Leaky Cauldron.

Hagrid had gotten a pack of Owl treats along with the Snowy owl. I had slipped her a few at dinner as she seemed hungry, so I slipped her another. She happily ate it, and then began to stretch her wings and nibble at the door of the cage.

"I suppose you want out, " I asked? She seemed to understand and hooted softly. I opened the cage and she hopped out and fluttered around the room, landing finally on my shoulder. "I guess I will need to name you then as well, " Again she hooted softly.

"How about ... Hedwig, " I said, "after Hedwig von Restorff." When my Uncle Vernon's father had died, we ended up with a lot of his old things, especially books. The Dursleys weren't big on reading, they just put them in a box in the cupboard under the stairs, where I was staying. I spent a lot of time reading them instead of going out to play or be with friends, as I hadn't managed to make any. I just couldn't relate to them very well, even though I had tried. In my greate uncle's book collection was a book on memory that I had read, and it talked about the _Restorff Effect_, named after the famed psychiatrist Hedwig von Restorff. The effect was that unusual things are more easily remembered than usual ones.

Hedwig seemed to like the name for her, as she was very unusual, it was very proper, and she seemed that kind of bird. She had a bright white face and glimmering yellow eyes. Her feathers were speckled black and they almost looked like tiger stripes. She was easily 70cm tall and weight about 3kg, she was beginning to hurt my shoulder. She seemed to realize this and flew to another perch on the footboard of the bed and began to preen.

I picked up my mother's diary and began to read, her handwriting was flowing and typically girly. It was also perfectly readable. She seemed to be very concerned about her family who were muggles, and especially her sister, Petunia. She talked about the sorting Ceremony and being placed in Gryffindor and that she was happy and sad, as her best friend 'S' had been placed in Slytherin. 'S', who could that be? The answer never came, before I knew it I had nodded off to sleep on the couch, diary in hand. I awoke sometime before sunrise the next day. It took a few minutes for me to recall all that had happened yesterday. I almost didn't believe it, until I realized that I was still holding my mother's diary. I got up and went downstairs to the main Pub, where I found Tom getting prepared for the day.

"Mr. Potter. Fancy some breakfast? eggs, bacon, " He asked?

I said yes and sat down to eat. I asked for a cup of coffee, and Tom scowled slightly, but brought it anyway. I asked for seconds and ate my fill before dashing up the stairs to begin learning more about magic.

Firstly, I felt I needed to learn a bit more about Hogwarts in general. I looked through my supplies and realized I hadn't gotten any decent notebooks, so I went to Flourish and Blott's which had a writing supply section and purchased a bunch of leather bound notebooks, or small diary type things. While there I noticed something called a "Quick Quotes Quill" which claimed to write down what you say. Kind of like a dictaphone, there were several types, for mystery writers, action/adventure, and reporters. I asked the man in charge about them and he explained each type and how it embellished in a common style what you said. I didn't want any of that so I picked a 10 pack of just the straight write-what-you-actually-say type. The pack said each one was good for about 50,000 words, and was refillable. I added in some refills, and returned to my room laden with even more supplies.

I took out a Quill and set it on the first page of the notebook but it fell over. I looked at the back of the package for directions, it said: "Just lick and talk." I touched the tip of the Quill to my tongue and suddenly it came to life, flew from my hand and landed on the notebook.

"My name is Harry Potter, " I said, and as fast as I could speak the words, it wrote them.

I played a few games with it, trying to say some tongue twisters. It's only limitation seemed to be figures, or drawings, I couldn't make it draw a line. It kept writing the word _line_. I noticed that if I touched it with my hand, it went limp and I could write what I wanted, then with another lick, it would be back in action.

I cracked open **Hogwarts, a history** and began to read. It was a small book, hardly a thorough treatment of the subject. Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago by 4 very powerful witches and wizards, Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and Salazaar Slytherin. The book was rather wooly and dramatic, casting Salazaar Slytherin as a Wizard of questionable morality. Why then, did they keep his house once he left? I strongly suspected a bit of a whitewash as to what was really going on. There were a few interesting points, that one couldn't do something called apparating, a quick look to my **Dictionary of Magical Terms** told me that apparition is the act of _teleportation_, in the castle, that it has strong magical enchantments, that it was once besieged by Ulric The Short, a diminutive Viking warlord in the 13th century who had been rebuffed by the then headmistress Gwendolyn Grey Veil who was a famed beauty in her time and one of the most famous Hufflepuff Headmistresses. Ulric was not only rebuffed, but repelled and the defensive magic protecting the castle was beefed up. The walls of all the gates feature 100 terracotta style soldiers with pikes that can be activated to defend the school. They are immune to most charms and offensive spells. Since then many other headmasters and headmistresses have added protective charms to prevent infiltration and attack. It can't be seen through spyglasses or telescopes, or magnifying lens of any kinds, which rules out satellites as well. During the Space Race, there was quite a stir in the magical community as to whether or not certain charms protecting magical areas would work against space born observers. It was discovered that they did, and so everything quieted down.

There was a brief mention of something called The Chamber of Secrets, supposedly created by Salazaar Slytherin, which held a deadly monster. The castle had been searched, and no such place found. I found myself terribly interested in Slytherin, as anyone who has ever read a critical history knows about the terrible slants and whitewashes they promote.

There were also a few mentions of secret passageways in the castle, but none were revealed. I made a note to look for them when I arrived there. The main thing of interest in this book was the library, which is supposed to hold one of the largest collections of books in a private institution. Not just wizarding texts, but all manner of muggle books and original editions can be found there.

After about 30 pages, I started to skim a bit faster. It was one of those books intended to give cursory information to the _casual questioner_. There were all kinds of interesting details though, like the ceiling of the great hall being enchanted, or charmed, to look like the sky directly above it in perfect detail. There was a small side story about a practical joke that took place some 15 years ago that modified the ceiling charm to not just _look like_, but _be like _the sky outside, during a week of particularly strong downpours. Of course it was soon repaired and restored to the original charm.

After **Hogwarts, a history** I decided to try **Sites of Historical Sorcery**, which was more or less in the same vein when it came to Hogwarts, which only had about 52 pages in total dedicated to the subject. By the time I was done with both books it was late in the afternoon, I had always been an unusually fast reader, and I had missed lunch entirely. I decided to wander around Diagon Alley a bit and see what I could learn, and come back in time for supper.


	6. Involve me and I learn

Conſider here the great might of War-lockeſ, who ſubdue theyr foeſ wyth daring ſpellſ of monstrouſ powur, but theſe great ſpellſ do have theyr coſt in both will and ſoul, ſo that he who uſeth a ſpell muſt know itſ coſt, and have reſigned himſelf to pay it. No thing iſ free, no powur cometh without itſ worthy coſt.

**The Arts of War-Lockes**

* * *

I sat down in a small booth in the corner and took up a menu. I decided I need to stop being such a spendthrift, and should only buy what was necessary. I decided on a ham sandwich with extra mayonaise, as that's basically eggs and oil, for cheap. I tossed off the bread as it always made me feel a bit heavy in the stomach, and just ate the ham, lettuce and tomato.

Eager to get to know my wand, and maybe even try a few spells, I left the table as soon as I could and headed up the stairs. I opened my trunk and rummaged around for **The Standard Book of Spells Grade 1**, when I found it, I took it over to a plush wing-backed chair in the corner and curled up with the book. I took out my wand and held it lightly up to the light. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever owned. All along the shaft, the natural knobby features of the wood had been left, yet still 4 thick silver threads had been embedded in it. It had been lightly covered with a shellac and golden stain. Mr. Ollivander had included a bottle of wand oil which he recommended I apply almost daily. He said it would be good for bonding.

I set the book aside for a moment and took out the oil and silk cloth I had stuffed into my pocket. I dribbled a bit of oil on the cloth and gently buffed it onto the want. It seemed to vibrate as I ran the cloth over it, and I was afraid it would start sparking again and maybe catch the cloth on fire.

When I was done with that, I took the book and flipped to a random spell. I was about to do it, when a thought occurred to me, maybe I would see what my wand wanted to do first. As if it read my mind it warmed in my hand.

"Okay." I said, "you pick which spell we'll do first, I'll flip the page, and if you like it, let me know." It is surprising that I didn't feel silly at all doing this, though when I recommended the same thing to Ron a few years later, he thought I was completely mental. "Wands aren't alive Harry," he said to me.

I flipped from page to page, there were all kinds of spells, locking, unlocking, levitating, pushing things forward, pulling them towards you. Suddenly I stopped above a spell, Lumos. I read it out loud to my wand:

* * *

_Lumos_ is a spell to create light at the end of your wand. The brightness of the light depends on how well you do the spell. It will last a certain amount of time until burning out, or until you flick the wand and say _nox_.

To perform this spell, you must move your wand in a tight half corkscrew upwards and say _lumos_ with force of will.

* * *

"Well, what do you think?" I asked. The wand seemed to vibrate imperceptibly, so I decided that a soup grip would work best, I held the wand, took a deep breath and began the corkscrew motion, as soon as I thought Lumos, but before I even said it the wand tip exploded with a blinding light.

"Wow, " I said, blocking my eyes, "I think you like that one a lot. " I waited a few moments before flicking the wand, and again before I even said "nox" the light went out.

For a moment I couldn't help but feel a bit of pride. This wand really had to be something special. A curious idea came over me, what if I gave the wand a name too, it seemed like it deserved one, otherwise I would have to say "Hey wand, what spell do you feel like doing today?" or something like that. It wouldn't be very polite.

"So how about it? A name, " I asked? The wand seemed to buzz and warm in my hand. After years of studying wandlore I can honestly say I don't know if the wand was really communicating with me or not. Apparently, it's quite normal for the wand to resonate with a wizard's thoughts and touch. But out of respect for my wand, I would prefer to think of it as a friend and partner, I've always had good success with that attitude, and I see no reason to change it.

I thought for a minute. It was tough, but then it came to me. When I was younger, I had a bit of a crush on Winona Rider, who was a muggle moviestar who played a movie called Beetlejuice. I wasn't sure if the wand was a girl or a boy, so I decided to give it a go, and risk insulting it. "How about, **Winona**, " I asked? The wand warmed up.

I have since learned that it's rather common for a Wizard to name their wand.

I continued through the book for two more hours, asking Winona what she wanted to do, and practicing all manner of spells. I was completely surprised that they were working. A few took 1 or 2 tries, but they all came out in the end.

After a while I felt tired and drained, so we stopped, and I decided to draw a bath and do some light reading. As the bath ran, the water seeming to produce copious bubbles on its own, I picked up **Magical Theory** by Adalbert Waffling. At last, I thought some of my many questions would be answered. I pulled up a stool and set the towel and the book on it, the towel mainly to dry my hands so I wouldn't smudge the ink on the page.

I had been so busy since Sunday I had actually forgotten to bathe or change clothes, so the warm bath was very welcome, I reached out to dry my hands and then opened the book to the first chapter, skipping the introduction as was my usual way of reading. I find introductions to not really be introductory at all, and almost never have any useful information except someone's opinion, and I like to have my own opinions: not those of anyone else.

* * *

_Magical Theory_ is simple when you get right down to it, everything is _energy_. _Matter_, on the whole, doesn't really exist after all. It's just energy that's been convinced, temporarily, to stop moving about. Much of the energy in the universe tends to keep to one form or another and stick to it. Once it starts doing something, _it's highly likely it will continue doing it, __**forever**_. Oh of course, on occasion, you get some radical energetic element that decides one moment to do something else for a change, and then you get accidents like those of the Bermuda Triangle, or the Caspian Hillsides, or Skin Walker Ranch, or certain types of _poltergeist_ activity. But on the whole, energy likes to do what it has traditionally done.

People, animals, everything are just energy. Of course if you are very dense you may ask "why a body rots in the grave", except that rotting is an energetic process as well? "How do worms eat the corpse," I hear the dullard question? Worms are energy of another type, and the processes of eating and digesting are how we observe energy interacting. Our eyes, our minds are also energy.

Thought is a type of energy, in fact certain thoughts are energy of a certain kind. Love thoughts, hate thoughts and emotions in general, even ambivalent thoughts are energy. Things that most people don't even think of as energy, like _will power_, _intention_, _attention_, and _memory_ are in fact not only energy, but are _possessed and accumulated_ in quantities within a person and are used for magic, they are also expended and you have limited amounts of them until you acquire more.

All of this is made simple once a person understands that there are different types of energy. In fact it is theorized by leading research wizards that there are literally hundreds upon hundreds of trillions of distinct forms of energy in the universe. Some even say that there are an increasing number of them, and that they evolve and combine to create new forms of energy every second of every hour of every day.

Once you accept this, the next thing to understand is that magic is largely the process of _getting energy to do something very __**specific**_. Since the amount of energy in the universe has so far proved to be immeasurable, even after many millenia of witches and wizards doing daily magic. It is not currently a worry that it may run out, because energy is **never destroyed**, it only moves somewhere else.

The earliest recorded wizards were Egyptians Priests. **Thuty Minmontu** who lived in the 18th dynasty under **Ahmose I**, was a powerful wizard. At that time magic was a really hit or miss kind of thing. It was completely proportional to _will_ and _intent_, so if you didn't have a lot of those, you couldn't do much.

Magic was also rather unimpressive, even if you did manage something, it was usually only moving small objects about or possibly setting some papyrus on fire. It was Minmontu who discovered how to make a _Machtamat_ which literally means a _sealed receptacle_.

The _Machtamat_ revolutionized magic because it meant that a particularly talented wizard could create a 'spell' in a special 'pocket' of the universe where energy flowed in a predetermined way, and that spell could be released by 'unlocking' the cover of the 'receptacle'. The lock requires, usually, two things, vibrational energy via sound (a collection of syllables, sometimes called a key or spell) and some kind of energetic _movement_. The _movement_ must always come first.

Many spells have been so often used that they respond even to the intent to speak, or the _preverbal adjustment of the vocal chords_.

Wands are not always necessary, and particularly powerful and practiced wizards can perform many spells with just a finger or hand or an elbow even. Mudgie the Mad, a 17th century Sorcerer and one of the most talented wizards of the last thousand years created no less than ten spells requiring the use of toes, elbows and other parts of the body.

Some types of magic require your entire body to move in a certain way, which is known as **Kinestomancy**, commonly called **Ritual Magic**. Others can only be performed at special events, like births or deaths. **Nativimancy** or **Midwife Magic** is an example as well as **Mortemancy** or **Funeral Magic**, which can be performed within seven days of death over a corpse. **Mortemancy** is not to be confused with the nefarious **Necromancy** which _uses_ the 'dead' to perform unspeakable forms of magic.

Magic has therefore been split into many different categories and subcategories. Unfortunately not all spells fit neatly into one category or another. Without respect for Dark, Grey, or Light magic, these categories are: **Arithmancy** (having to do with numbers), **Materiamancy** (having to do with manipulating solid state energies, _Transfiguration_ for example), **Imbueremancy** (Enchantment, or more commonly _Charms_), **Animancy** (nothing to do with animals, _Legilimancy_ and _Occulumancy_ are properly subsets, as well as _Divination_).

**Arithmancy**: Since everything in the universe is energy, numbers are too. **Arithmancy** holds, and this has yet to be contested outside of conversation, that numbers are real things and they can do something. **Arithmancy** is not the same as Mathematics, although on the surface it looks as such. At first **Arithmancy** simply looked like quaint spells where the locking mechanism was the act of writing a certain pattern of letters or numbers, which is called a _Scribe's Lock_. It was later discovered by a Sufi, al-Khwarizmi, that it didn't matter what language, order, or method you used to accomplish the magic, it always works out the same.

**Materiamancy**: The act of manipulating 'material' objects without adding energy to them, as that would be **Imbueremancy**. _Transfiguration_ is the main branch of this form of magic (and is commonly used to refer to it as a whole in some circles), which covers all forms of changing a figure into another. Growing or expanding, shrinking, and concealing the apparent quantities of an object. Things of course are not actually made smaller or larger in energy, they are simply tightly or loosely packed. There are limits to how big and small an object can become without adding more to it, which is very difficult.

**Imbueremancy**: When energy from somewhere else is attached in some way to an 'object' this is a charm, or enchantment. The object in question can be anything, even energy in an obvious energetic form. Charming lightning for instance, while tricky, is possible. **Imbueremancy** is one of the broadest categories of magic.

**Animancy**: Magic of the mind. While some spells in this category could fit in others, when it has to do with the mind, memory, or sight it is generally **Animancy**. In modern times this category is not often discussed because it is the most difficult branch of magic, and many young wizards mistake it for _Animagi_, which is properly in the **Materiamancy**/_Transfiguration_ category. As a curious aside, they used to not be called _Animagi_, but _Corocottas_, or sometimes _Werbestia_. The term _Werbestia_ fell out of favor with the appearance of werwolves. _Legilimancy_, or the art of 'reading' a person's mind, and _Occulumancy,_ the act of preventing the 'reading' are complex arts in themselves. Spells having to do with sight, future or past or present, also falls into this category. _Scrying_, or _remote viewing_ of an object or person, is also placed here. There are also a number of scrying enchantments which are placed here, even though they may properly belong to **Imbueremancy**.

* * *

At this point my head was swimming with all kinds of questions and ideas. In muggle school I had learned a completely different perspective on the world, but this one, for a reason I couldn't comprehend, made perfect sense. I realized I had spent over an hour in the bath, and my toes were becoming wrinkled. I finished washing and got out of the tub. I decided I would try a robe, I put on a red tunic, black pants, and a black scholarly looking robe. I put on the leather boots and stood in them. I had never worn shoes with heels on them before, and though they were short and stubby, I still found it a bit awkward for a minute or two.

I found that the robe, which had been hemmed perfectly, was free and easy to move about in, and soon I was twisting and jogging about the room.

I felt like a new person, and I stood in front of the mirror in my new clothes and tried to smooth down my hair.

"I'm afraid that's a losing battle my dear, " said the mirror.

I was very startled, and even a bit embarrassed as I had just dressed in front of it.

"Are you alive, " I asked?

"Of course I'm alive dear, " it replied.

"It's just, I've never heard of a talking mirror, " I said.

"Well, you're supposed to say: Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all, " it said.

"But you're on a stand, not the wall, " I said confused.

"Oh, nevermind dear, " it said, "are you planning to go out?"

I hadn't really thought about it, the bath had refreshed me and the new clothes made me want to go out and see what kind of life was around me.

"What time is it, " I asked aloud.

"Quarter past 9, dear", the Mirror answered.

"You can tell time too, " I asked?

"No dear, I can see the clock on the wall behind you, " it said.

"Oh, of course, " I said.

I turned to look at the clock on the wall. I wondered if anything was open besides the pub downstairs. But then I remembered I had decided to be a bit more economical with my money for the time being and decided I might as well practice a few more spells. I sat down with the **Standard Book of Spells Grade 1**, and found a levitation spell.

* * *

Levitation of an object, but not a person or animal, is accomplished with a gentle swish and flick of the wand and the correct pronunciation of _wingardium leviosa_. The levitation charm was re-invented in 1544 by Jareth Hobart who was actually trying to make a flying spell for wizards. Flying however is a rare gift and only a handful of wizards throughout history have managed to accomplish it, unless they are an animagus of the avian variety which is almost as equally rare.

To stop the spell, us the inverse motion of flick and swish.

* * *

I took out my wand and decided to give it a try on the book. This spell turned out to be more difficult than I thought. I must have tried it ten different times with all manner of emphasis on the syllables before finally the **Standard Book of Spells Grade 1** started to float.

I tried to stop the spell and failed just as many times until I got it right, and the book fell back onto the coffee table. Within moments I got a nasty surprise, an owl arrived with a letter to the window where it pecked insistently.

I opened the window and took the letter. The owl immediately zoomed off, and I tore the letter open excitedly, thinking it was perhaps from Hogwarts, or Hagrid. Probably to remind me to get a wand as we had forgotten the previous day.

* * *

Dear Mr. Potter

We have received notice that a Levitation Charm was used in your room without an adult wizard present, at 27 minutes past 9 August the 1st. As you may not yet be aware, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside of school except in emergency or basic utility. Further spellcasting on your part may lead to expulsion from school and confiscation of your wand according to **The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery**, 1875, Paragraph C and D respectively.

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the **International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy**.

Yours Sincerely,  
Mafalda Hopkirk  
IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE  
Ministry of Magic


	7. Like we're being watched

Of alle the potions moste difficulte in the brewing, fue can match the Draughte of Living Deathe, for nought can it be tested, save upon thyself, nor can it be administered, but to they who brewe it. With it muste be made the remedie, for of what use is it if any antidote would undo it, for has it not been conceived to simulate death that the brewer himselfe may escape punisment, as was the case of its creator William of Waldenbury, who outrageously, and on many a night, did foule the bed of the Parson, and there being found in criminal conversation with his bewitched wife, did brewe this potion, and spread the tale of having fallen victim to God's wrath, which so satisfied the local clergyman that Waldenbury was soon able to recommence his nocturnal tristes. Alas, he was again caught, and delivered stabbed many times with an antique candelabra and his body burned as though he was a demon. Thankfully, his notes were saved, and are included here.

Attention muste be paid to its brewing, for even the slightest thing out of place, or one drop more of this or that, and the Draught of Living Death becomes the Draught of Death.

**Moste Potente Potions**

* * *

I suppose I had it coming. In the magical world, spell casting must be a bit like driving a car. I reread the note. "We have received notice...", I wondered how. Was someone watching me? I looked suspiciously at the mirror in the corner. That couldn't be it, it seemed like it was a universal law of the wizarding world, and an old one. And the time was specified to the minute. It must be some kind of spell.

Now you should understand something about me, especially then, but I think it is generally true of most children. The fact that I wasn't allowed to do something made me want to do it even more. Children who are becoming young adults are especially sensitive to the idea of privacy, and I was more so than most as I had spent most of my early childhood with Dudley sharing a room. I can say that I was very irritated by the letter, and a little bit afraid. But I have always noticed that fear has a strange effect on me, instead of running away, I have always tended to run towards what I fear, to understand it and overcome it.

I am not sure at 11 I would have put it in those words, but the beginnings of that feeling were there, and I decided at that moment to find out how they were spying on me, and to **put a stop to it**. What I needed, was someone who knew how to hide from authorities.

When I was a bit younger, Dudley and I would sometimes play police and thieves. He was the policeman, and I was the thief. While these days I am a bit more tame, at that age my disregard for the rules was tantamount to ideological.

The next week was filled with reading my books. I decided that Potions was the thing to work on, even though I daily oiled and chatted with my wand, just to keep in touch I told myself. The book **Magical Drafts and Potions** by Arsenius Jigger had one of the few useful introductions of any book I have read yet, where he lays out the importance of Potions and how in a sense it's not really magic as normally defined. There are no wands, and using magic, or enchanted self-stirring cauldrons leads only to substandard results.

* * *

Potions are the only true _science_ known to wizard kind. It is slow, methodical, and requires a particularly fastidious mind. The smallest detail has a world of importance. Potions, drafts, poisons, cannot be detected by magical means, only astute observation and an educated mind.

**Magical Drafts and Potions**

* * *

The thing which interested me most was "_cannot be detected by magical means_." A spying spell wasn't going to work. I was fairly certain I wasn't really allowed to brew potions either, but as long as I kept it small and simple, and spent extra time studying clean up and safety measures I could advance my knowledge and give a big sod-off to this Ministry of Magic and that nosy Mafalda Hopkirk.

The first potion taught in the book was a Cleaning Solution, which is simple to make, but is different for each type of cauldron and highly toxic to human skin. The main reason for brewing this potion is that a single jot or drip of a previously brewed potion can completely ruin everything. Before each potion is brewed the cauldron must be thoroughly cleaned. Sometimes it is required to allow the cleaning solution to soak in for several days.

While standard, pre-brewed cleaning solutions are available, Jigger insists that they are substandard in quality and lead to questionable results. I have found that even today this is still true. Wizards are much closer to things than muggles, because they play so much with the very nature of reality they form bonds with their equipment. You cauldron will always be easier to use and better than someone else's. That's just the way it works in the wizarding world, and why things are built to last. The more you use them, the better they become.

I spent much of my time reading **Magical Drafts and Potions** and Moste Potente Potions, which was extremely difficult to plod through as it was written in a very old style of English. I hadn't really opened the other books I had gotten at **Lucman &amp; Lake'**s book store, and this is one thing that those who are avid readers certainly find, the pile of books we intend to read constantly grows, and some can be temporarily lost in the shuffle.

On the very next Sunday after I had arrived in Diagon Alley, having been completely buried in my books, voraciously consuming them, or brewing simple potions, I turned the final page on **The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection**, which I maintain to this day as being the single stupidest book I have ever read on the topic. The main lesson of this book is: Run away, fast, and call the **Curators** (a general term for wizard police, as **Auror** is more like a Detective, **Curator** just means Guardian, or Keeper, or colloquially Stews, for Steward, vulgarly **Stupes**, which is the equivalent of the muggle word **Pig **or** Filth**). It did however have some points worth noting on shield charms and curse rebounding, **Sicubi **can rebound a spell cast against you, and **Se Retraxit** can deflect it when cast at someone else. The book contained no offensive spells worth noting, and didn't even talk about the kind of spells a 'dark' wizard was supposed to use against you. Nevertheless it was worthwhile reading, if only for those two spells.

I had learned in **Magical Theory** that many spells had been resealed in 11th century to standardize them as before they had been in Greek, Egyptian, or Aramaic and it was all a bit confusing. Apparently the older forms do still work, and some are even more powerful when using the older_ incantation_. Many very advanced spells weren't resealed and you still have to learn them in ancient demotic.

Unfortunately due to my run in with the Ministry of Magic, I wasn't able to try any of these spells, which hurt my ability to really learn them as I have always had a hands-on way of learning.

I decided that I had been cooped up too long, and wanted to get out and walk about, maybe even stop for another vanilla ice cream cone from Florean's. I had avoided it up to this point due to him always insisting on giving it to me for free.

Out on the street, people were briskly walking past me, wizards in robes and hats of all colors, decked out with floral thing-a-majigs on their hats, or pinned to their chests. Old and young, it seemed every witch and wizard in London must be out today. Loads of children and teenagers were running to and fro, some with parents some without. I spotted the strangest family ever, 7 red headed wizards, from a small girl to a slightly balding man in his 40s walking right past me arguing and shouting loudly. They were especially remarkable because their hair was so brightly red that I thought for a moment it had to have been dyed that way.

Most of them seemed to be of school age, one of them had the look of my age as well. They disappeared into Flourish and Blotts and I followed them in with the intention of pretending to be a second year student and purchasing next year's books in advance. It was so busy in the shop I knew I could pass it off easy without much chance of nasty questions. At worst, I would claim to be buying a set for a friend or cousin or something.

The red haired mother was loading sets from the first, third, and fourth year books while yelling at the small boy about my age to put back a book of curses and jinxes."

"Ronald Weasley you put that back, " she exclaimed.

The boy walked away dejected and crashed right into me, falling backwards.

"Come on you git, watch where you're going, " were the first words Ronald Weasley ever said to me. Believe me, he's said worse since.

I reached my hand down to help him up, and he apologized for the strong words but stopped midway through his mumbling when he looked at my face. His mouth sort of dropped wide open.

"You're him, " he said.

"I am me, yeah, " I replied. I had started to get used to people recognizing me, and instead of getting mad, I was trying a new method of making light of it all. He stared for a moment at my scar.

"Wicked, " he shook his head in amazement, "you have to meet my da', he's always talking about you." Before I could refuse he grabbed me by the hand and pulled me to his father and started jerking hard on his sleeve.

"Da', da', you gotta see this, " he said.

"Ronald, really can't you ever ... Good Lord, " said his father as his eyes met my scar, "you're him."

"Only on Sundays though, " I said, trying another joke and he burst out laughing.

"Harry Potter, good lord, I haven't seen you since you were this big, " he held out his hands to indicate that I had been really small, "at James and Lily's wedding."

"You were the quietest, most well behaved baby I'd ever seen, " added the red-headed woman from behind a stack of books, "hold these Arthur."

She bent down to look at me, "my you are handsome and clean, Ron could learn a thing or two from you I expect. My name is Molly, and this is Arthur, and you've met Ron, and this is little Ginny our daughter, and over there are Fred and George our twin boys, and well, Percy seems to have gone off somewhere..."

We all smiled, and shook hands and said hello, except for Ginny, who was about 9 or 10, I couldn't tell, but very shy.

"Have you gotten all your supplies yet, " Mrs. Weasley asked. I told her I had and was just looking around. That I had been staying up at the Leaky Cauldron for the last week.

"My Goodness, in that dingy place, why, I'd think you'd want to spend this last amount of time with your family" she said. Now that I thought about it, it was rather a bit ridiculous. I had sent them a note by owl of my plans to stay, and they had returned a note with a single word. Good.

" I live with my aunt and uncle, and they don't have a very good opinion of Magic and wizards in general, " I said, "but it's not all bad. "

"Yes yes, but who is going to take care of you, you look like you haven't eaten in a week, and I daresay Tom couldn't cook a proper meal to save his life. No, you'll come stay with us until it's time to take the train to Hogwarts, Arthur will write to Dumbledore to let him know where you are, and I suppose to your Aunt and Uncle as well. I am sure they'll be glad you have some responsible supervision, " she finised.

"I am pretty sure they wouldn't, " I said, "and thank you for the invitation, but I really can't."

"Aw, come on Harry, you'll love it, we'll play a bit of Quidditch, " said Ron.

"Fred and George are on the Gryffindor team at Hogwarts, come on, you'll love it, " he added eagerly.

I looked into their earnest faces. The Dursleys had always drummed into me the danger of strangers and different folks, and these wizards were about as different as I had ever seen. But something about them seemed so welcoming and caring. I'd once been invited to a sleep over in primary school, and it had been a lot of fun. I was never allowed to go back when Uncle Vernon learned that their parents weren't married, and that the father rode a motorcycle on weekends. I always wanted a motorcycle. Well, I decided then and there that I would do it. Everyone cheered, and Ron and I decided to have a look around the book store. We went to the adult section of the store where all the advanced magical books were kept, and even a few of another type that we suddenly became desperately interested in reading, but one of the sales clerks shooed us away, threatening to tell our parents.

On the way out, I remembered that I was looking for the 2nd year set of books, and ran back to get them really quick, I paid for the set and ran back out, but Mrs. Weasley noticed it was the wrong year. I managed to convince her I was getting them in advance for next year and she decided to let it go.

We all stopped outside **Quality Quidditch Supplies** to look at a broomstick called a **Nimbus 2000**, Ron, Fred, and George pressed their faces to the glass. At that point an owl arrived and landed right on Mr. Weasley's shoulder.

"Dumbledore, agrees Harry should stay with us for the rest of the summer. Wishes you the best Molly. Is looking forward to another Weasley at Hogwarts, that's you Ronald, " he finished reading the note, "right then, let's get back to the Cauldron, we'll pick up Harry's things and hop up the Floo."

"The Floo, " I asked? Ron explained that most Wizards travel by the Floo Network, it's a kind of connection between fireplaces in Britain, you can get most places fast like that. Especially if you can't or don't want to Apparate.

With the help of Fred and George, Mr. Weasley and I managed to collect all my things into my trunk and the Twins carried it down the stairs, and we all took turns walking towards the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron with a handful of Floo Powder which we were to throw into the fire and say: 'The Burrow' very clearly.

Dragging my trunk behind me, I took one last look around, a bit sad to be leaving as I had really started to love this place. Hedwig hooted irritably in her cage, obviously put out by the angle at which I was holding my trunk, to which her cage was attached. I cast the powder into the fire, said clearly 'The Burrow', and stepped through.


	8. The Burrow

Be ye therefore studious, and seek perfection, even as your goal is the perfection of heaven, for in malice and haste are ye yet children, to become a man is to shunt aside all pointless things. They who seek the power of the Animagi must mortify and subdue their flesh, for to change it must ye find first the power to command it. Only with a perfect heart and a willing mind can ye surmount thy form.

**Animagi**

* * *

If I had known what a fairy tale house could look like, The Burrow would have matched up with that perfectly. It was filled with an earthy aroma and faint hints of sweet and sour smells coming from all directions. Some years later I read a Muggle book by a University Professor called The Hobbit. The Burrow was a Hobbit house. The ceiling was a bit short, and Mr. Weasley, who was rather tall, almost had to duck. Everything seemed to be well worn, but not dirty. It was just the kind of house my Aunt Petunia would expect, and loathe, from wizards. The house I had lived in on Privet drive was modern and pristine. Everything new and shining. The couch had been covered by a sheet of plastic, and even then I was rarely allowed to sit on it. The Burrow's couch was wide and plush, and looked like it had been sat in a thousand times by a rambunctious team of football players.

Everything smelled like it had been hand washed, and all the windows had streaks and a few had cracks. This was just perfect. A home that people actually lived in, instead of a museum to art deco. There were big paintings on the walls, other people with vivid red hair, they waved and smiled and milled about.

There was a loud groan and knocking sound from up the stairs.

"That's our ghoul, " said Ron, "dad's been trying to get him out for ages, but he's practically part of the family by now. None of the normal exorcism spells seem to work."

I caught my first sight of Percy Weasley, Ron's brother. A tall, skinny boy who walked up to me with his chest puffed out, obviously drawing attention to the badge on his chest with a Hogwarts crest and the word 'Prefect' written across some scrollwork.

"Percy Weasley, " he extended his hand and I shook it, "I'll be the Gryffindor prefect this year. You'll be wanting to be in Gryffindor I assume?"

"No actually, I was thinking I'd rather like Ravenclaw, or Slytherin, " I announced. Everyone took in a short gasp of breath.

"You can't be serious? Slytherin are all a bunch of dark wizards, " said Ron.

"Aye, most of the followers of You-know-who were Slytherins for sure, " added Fred, or George.

"Well if they're all evil, why doesn't Dumbledore chuck them out, " I asked, honestly puzzled.

"Now boys, plenty of good witches and wizards come out of Slytherin and it's a ... fine house if Harry chooses it, " he said. I would later learn that house rivalries of students from Hogwarts go way beyond anything that muggles see with sports teams.

"Well it's the Sorting Hat that decides in the end, looks into your heart to see where you belong, " said Percy finally and the matter was dropped.

"You'll be staying with Ron dear, Ronald, help Harry with his things and you all go and unpack. Harry, if you have any laundry leave it in the basket and I'll come around and fetch it, " she said patting Ron and I on the backs to get us going.

We carried our stuff up to Ron's room on the 3rd and top floor, just below the attic. The stairs, while sturdy, looked as though they had been built by an enthusiastic amateur, probably Mr. Weasley as he looked the DIY type. Once the door was shut, Ron looked me in the eye seriously, "You can't be serious Harry. Slytherin, they're mad there. All the kids in Slytherin today will be the children of the followers of You-know-who, you'll be dead in a week."

"I guess, I mean, I never thought about it, all I know of Hogwarts is what was in the packet they sent, and there was nothing in there about life expectancy for those in Slytherin. Besides, I like Ravenclaw better anyway. I just thought Slytherin would be nice, as I like snakes," I said.

"You like snakes? Those slimey creatures that crawl on the ground, with poisonous fangs and kill you, " he asked a bit over-exited.

"They're not all poisonous, " I said, "most of them are quite intelligent, and friendly if you get to know them."

"I don't want to get to know them, " he said, "you like Quidditch?"

I looked around his room. It was covered floor to ceiling with posters of men in bright orange robes flying on brooms, winking and smiling and swinging clubs.

"Yeah, Chudley Canons, best Quidditich team ever, " said Ron. He seemed to like them a lot as even his bedspread had 'Chudley Canons' written across it.

"I've never played it before, " I said, "but I'd like to learn!"

Ron seemed pleased beyond measure, and the fact that I might end up in Slytherin was banished from his mind. He grabbed a tattered old broom and raced for the door, "come on, we'll get Fred and George and have a go in the field out back."

Fred and George didn't seem up for the idea of Quidditch with Ron until they learned it was to teach me the game, at which point they perked up a bit and we all headed out to the field to learn to play.

They only had one _bludger_ and no _snitch_ as it was called, but they had a _quaffle_, and only one goal post. Ron hopped on his broom and flew around, but it was very slow compared to Fred and George's who were on the Gryffindor house team, and so had better brooms. After a few minutes, Fred and George practically had to push Ron off the broom to convince him to give me a chance. When Ron tells the story though, it's the inverse.

It took me awhile to get used to flying, but after about 10 minutes I was loving it. Fred and George said I was a natural, and I managed to dodge every beater they sent at me, though I don't think they were trying too hard. After I scored a goal against George, I was beginning to be able to tell them apart, they decided to play a bit harder, and I took a bludger to the stomach and flew off the broom. Fred was sorry it had been so hard, "but can't let you get too full of yourself, " said Fred. "We have a reputation to maintain, " added George. George switched off with Ron, who took the place as the Keeper, I scored one goal against him, but the rest never made it past. Fred and George were always a bit hard on him for any mistakes, but even they had to admit he was pretty good as Keeper.

After about an hour we all collapsed on the grass, Ron and I were exhausted, but Fred and George seemed to have barely even warmed up. I asked Ron and the Twins what their dad did. It turned out he worked for the Ministry of Magic as head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. Apparently he was crazy about muggles.

"He's going to want to take you to the garage, " said Fred ominously. "Yeah, you'll be lucky to make it out alive, " added George. "Dad loves collecting muggle stuff, it's like a muggle curio shop in there, " said Ron, "he tinkers with it, adding charms to see how it works. Drives mum mad, see it's against the law. The law that he wrote."

"I'd love to see it, I like tinkering too, " I said.

"That's right, Harry Potter, Slytherin Tinkerer, " laughed Fred and George. We all had a good laugh, and I told them I didn't know that Slytherin was so bad. They all contributed stories, most of them outrageously horrible about Slytherin House.

"Just wait till you meet Snape mate, he's a right proper git that one, " said George. "Meanest teacher at Hogwarts, almost as mean as Filch," added Fred.

"Who's Filch, " I asked.

"The janitor, been there for ages, always threatening the kids with torture, he has a cat, " said George. "We reckon it's charmed or something, you see him talking to it, and if she sees you doing anything off, you better bet Filch knows about it, " added Fred.

I tried not to ask too many questions, but I was curious about Mr. Weasley. If anyone would know how they were spying on me and other kids, I was sure it would be him. But perhaps he was in on it, and thought it was perfectly okay. I am sure it was perfectly legal, but a cursory look at history will show you that what is legal is _not always right_ and what is right is _not always legal_. At one point it was perfectly legal to kill people in the Colosseum in Rome, or burn witches at the stake, or kill Jews in the street. When I was younger, not having any friends, and nothing to do all summer, I had read my great Uncle's old books, about history and war, and all the horrible things people have done. I think it had a negative effect on my opinions, or positive, depending on how you look at it.

"Are you guys allowed to practice magic out of school, " I asked?

"Not on our lives, the Ministry keeps a tight control on that, even with dad working for them, " George said.

"I didn't used to be that way, but what with You-know-who and all, they say he learned all kinds of dark magic on his own in private or something, so the Ministry's always looking in on people, to make sure they aren't getting the wrong kinds of ideas, " added Fred, "or that's what they say, they're just terrified of anyone like that ever getting revolutionary."

"You-know-who really gave them a run for their money, " said Ron, "if it hadn't been for you, he would've taken over. S'why you're famous."

"I didn't do anything, I don't even remember it, " I said.

"That's why you're famous, if you had been an adult people wouldn't bother, that's how fame works mate, " said Fred.

"If he'd have been an adult he would have ended up in Azkaban, " said George.

"How d'you reckon, " asked Ron?

"Never a good idea to be too powerful, or appear that way at least, if the Ministry was afraid of You-know-who, they would be doubly afraid of the person who beat him. Unless it was an obvious accident, " said George, " which is why you're still alive and free. Ministry seems convinced that You-know-who died by misadventure. Miscasted his curse or something, it happens." George shrugged.

Before long, Mrs. Weasley called out that it was dinner time.

After dinner Mr. Weasley pulled me aside and invited me to see his workshop as he called it. It was a large, oddly unsquare building complete with a modified garage door that opened when he pressed a button on a remote, something he was excited to demonstrate.

"It's a button you see, fabulous invention, " he giggled.

As the door opened he waved his arm in a wide arc, as if presenting me to a grand circus show. And in a sense he was. Inside the garage were shelves full of the oddest muggle artefacts. There was an old antique gun case with a locking glass door, but it was filled with rubber ducks, and other bath toys. He had another long glass case against the back wall, like the kind found in a jewelry store, but instead of jewels it had an assortment of electrical plugs, some were very old and looked strange. Further down the case where wrenches and screw drivers of different sizes and varieties. Finally he had a small collection of power tools, some were marked with a little sign with their names on it, but they were almost all wrong. Several had Unknown Specimen written on them. I pointed to one at the top left, "orbital sander," I said. He mouthed the words again and again as if trying to memorize them. "It means it sands in a circle," I added.

"What is 'sands'? It's on a beach no, " he asked?

"It means it runs in a circle, it twists around and around, and it makes things smooth, like wood mostly, " I said. "Fascinating, and it works with eckeltricity, " he asked?

"Ee-lek-tri-ci-tee, " I mouthed slowly. He repeated it several times over. His collection was really amazing, even Uncle Vernon would have been jealous of his power tools, circular saws, sabre saws, all improperly marked.

"What about this Harry, I can't seem to figure it out, " he asked, pointing to a thick metal pen looking thing connected to a small box with a knob. "I am sure it runs on ee-lek-tri-ci-tee, and that when I hook it up to this generator here, it gets terribly hot, I've burned myself twice. But it never explodes, " he trailed off.

"That's because it's what it is meant to do, " I said, "I have an old one of these, it's a Soldering Iron." His eyes lit up like a small child and he bit his fist for a second to stifle his excitement, "does that mean you know what it does," he asked.

I explained to him that it was used to connect pieces of metal, together, small ones. To install transistors, or work with electronics, like radios, or computers.

"Computers, " he exclaimed, "do you know what they do?"

It took a very long time to explain to him what a computer does, and how it works. I told him I didn't know everything about them, but with each thing I said his eyes got wider, and wider.

"These muggles, " he shook his head, "why it's practically magic."

I decided that I really liked Mr. Weasley at this point. He was like a child in a candy store, and he was a tinkerer like me. It didn't matter that he worked for the Ministry of Magic, which I had really started to dislike on account of it cramping my style. I thought I would ask him some questions too, maybe he would be as happy to tell me as I had been to tell him about muggle stuff.

"I like tinkering too, with muggle stuff, but I love how magic works, " I said, "like for instance, how does the Ministry know when an underage Wizard does magic?"

"That's a good question, I haven't the foggiest. Things at the Ministry are very secretive, no interdepartmental communication really, since You-know-who, " he gave a shudder.

"But he's been gone for years, " I said.

"Power and secrecy Harry, they come about in times of necessity, but they are very difficult to put back in the bottle, " he said, "during those...times...special circumstances were needed, to survive, now that the Ministry has the power, it will never let it go. That's how government works."

I sat down, "what happened then?"

"I don't know if you're old enough to hear about those things Harry, let's just say it was bad. "

"He killed my parents you know, " I said, "I remember it even, in my dreams," I said, and it was true. I had had a strange dream once or twice, of a woman screaming and a green flash of light.

"Good Lord."

"I think I deserve to know the truth, the worst has already happened to me, " I added, and that I felt was a certain truth. I always hated when adults decided what was and was not best for me to know. Ignorance kills more people than knowledge, that's for sure.

"It was terrible Harry, daily fear. You never knew if you would come home and find his mark above your house. The Dark Mark. If you saw it, then you knew You-know-who or some of his followers had...killed everyone inside, " he said.

"Why doesn't anyone say Voldemort, " I asked, and he winced sharply.

"Good Lord Harry, don't say the name, never say it, " he said with a frantic note in his voice, but then he calmed down, "you have to understand Harry. When You-know-who first showed up, everyone in the office was talking about him, even joking. But there were followers of his, in secret, everywhere. If they heard you use his name, they had to kill you, horribly. Forest Krimbly worked in the Office with me, oh he was a harmless jokester, always with a quip or joke. Well he took up making fun of You-know-who. One night he came home, and the Mark was above his house, " Mr. Weasley choked slightly.

"What did he find, " I asked?

"There was smoke feeding the mark you see, that's how it works, they set a fire and the smoke is part of the spell. Well, he went around back, and there was his wife. They'd burned her you see, at the stake, like a joke", he said, now his hands were shaking a bit as he gestured around his neck with a finger, "and they'd put a sulfur dipped rag around her neck. To make...to make it slower."

Mr. Weasley gurgled a bit and then recovered himself. "Well old Forest, he couldn't take it. He hung himself a few days later. Now you see, the terrible things they did to people if you used the name. And there were worse ones than that to be sure. But I knew Krimbly, we went to Hogwarts together."

That was the first time anyone had really been honest with me about Voldemort. They didn't beat around the bush. I clenched my fists and grated my teeth, seething at the story. It was so unjust, it was horrible, and I understood why they didn't want to say the name, but I knew that was the wrong reaction.

"Why didn't anyone stop him, " I asked?

"We tried, we tried everything. He was unkillable. Any Auror that got near him was killed. Any spy that infiltrated his followers was killed. The only person he feared, the only person he avoided, was Albus Dumbledore, " said Mr. Weasley.

"What's Dumbledore like, " I asked.

"He is a great man, Dumbledore, " he said, "an Auror from way back, practically wrote the book on catching Dark Wizards. Actually, he literally wrote a book on it, for the Ministry. After You-know-who disappeared, we all wanted him to become Minister for Magic, but he wouldn't do it. Instead he continued in the Headmaster position at Hogwarts, left us all damned confused."

"He didn't want the power, " I asked?

"Ha, Harry you don't get to be Albus Dumbledore on accident. Sure there's natural talent, and I heard he was incredible even as a young boy, but power is no stranger to Dumbledore, " he said, "no, he saw through the Ministry, it's a bureaucratic monstrosity, no one is in charge there. It's Act this, and Reasonable Regulation that."

"Then why do you still work there, " I asked?

"I have a family Harry, and I've never been all that talented as a wizard, I've been with the Ministry for 30 years, I've got my retirement to look forward to, " He slouched on the counter, "I don't think I could make it outside the Ministry. You keep your head down, and you do what's in front of you, and you get paid."

"Do you think Vol-You-know-who is dead, " I asked.

"No, neither does Dumbledore, he's just broken, lost connection to his power, but he's out there, biding his time, " Mr. Weasley said looking out the small window to the starry sky.

"Good, " I said, "I can't kill him if he's dead, now can I."

We both broke out laughing. Mr. Weasley put his arm around me, "Harry, you have the heart of a Lion."


End file.
